


Backwards Clock

by outofmygourd



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Unus Annus - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: General Dark Themes, Ghosts AU, Horror AU, M/M, Mention of Suicide and Depression, NO graphic depictions or in depth discussions of suicide or depression, chapters will have individual content warnings, mark is a ghost and is haunting ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofmygourd/pseuds/outofmygourd
Summary: Ethan lives alone and has been in quarantine for awhile. His mind begins to play tricks on him-- or that's what he thought at first. Once too much evidence piles up that it's not just all in his head, he's determined to get to the bottom of what's going on. Who-- or what-- is messing with him? And who do those dark eyes belong to that he sees in his dreams?
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor, Mark Fishbach & Ethan Nestor
Comments: 40
Kudos: 132





	1. The Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> hello! if ur here from my other fic, The Way We Move, dont worry i will mostly be focusing on that one! but because that one is more fluffy and happy, i wanted a way to write some darker, horror stuff without messing up the theme of that one. this fic will probably be updated much less frequently than The Way We Move, but hopefully it will still be worthwhile! the first chapter is shorter than what i tend to write, so they'll probably get longer, be warned :p (plus they'll eventually have a bit less dialogue as well.) enjoy and thanks for reading!

It’s getting weird. No, like, really weird. Listen, I know people are going a bit stir crazy in quarantine, but I’m not so sure that’s the case anymore. It’s August, and I’ve been holed up for who knows who long anymore, but either I’m losing my fucking mind, or something’s...not right in my house. I always feel like I’m being watched, no matter the time of day. The nights are worse, of course.

It started small enough that I could write it off as my own forgetfulness. I mean, everyone thinks they’ve turned off the lights when they haven’t before, right? Everyone misplaces objects, only to find them in the strangest possible places. And everyone definitely thinks they see things in the shadows at night, only to find there’s nothing there when the lights turn on. The mind is a powerful thing, and it can make you believe all sorts of things. It can even convince you that you’re dying when you’re perfectly healthy. It can make you feel pain that isn’t there, if you focus hard enough.

So that’s what I’ve chalked it up to these past few months. But now, as I stare at the shattered glass on the floor, from a cup that I heard fling itself across the counter behind me, my hands are clammy and my breathing is just as scattered as my mind. You’re mind can’t just imagine that. I was staring right _at_ the shards of glass on the floor. I _heard_ it slide rapidly all the way across the smooth counter before breaking with an ear piercing noise as it hit the floor. I wasn’t looking, but I wasn’t anywhere near the glass, because I was bent over my stove cooking dinner. And I live alone.

“H-hello?” I call out, my voice small and shaky, fear creeping up my spine and sinking into my chest. I start to worry that there’s a _person_ in my house, like an intruder. I turn quickly and grab a knife out of the knife block, the metal _*shinggg*_ echoing around my ears. I turn off the stove and take slow, careful steps out of the kitchen, peering my head around the wall before stepping out. I keep the knife gripped tight, and point it out in front of me. My heart is beating in my ears, thudding so hard in my throat I feel like it might leap out of my mouth. I try and slow my ragged breaths as I walk slow and carefully through my house, turning on all of the lights as I go. I’ve never listened so hard for noise in my life.

I pass my guest bedroom, peering in only for a moment to turn on the light and do a quick sweep of the room. There was nothing and no one. I move on, finally getting to my room. No one, again. I can’t let out a sigh of relief, though, because _something_ had to make that glass fly off the counter. I gulp and make my way back to the kitchen, knife still in hand. When I enter the kitchen, I gasp, my knees going so weak that I think for a moment I may collapse to the floor. I grip onto the wall to steady myself.

All of the cabinets and drawers in my kitchen were open, the drawers so far pulled out they were barely hanging on the hinges. My breathing is fast, too fast, and I feel myself panicking, unable to calm myself.

“What the _fuck_?” I gasp out, setting the knife on the counter and starting to close everything. “What the _actual fuck_ is going on?” I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t wrap my head around what I’ve seen. Something was not fucking right.

I pull out my phone and call my friend Bob, tears forming in my eyes from fear. I back myself against the wall and grab the knife again, although I’m pretty sure whatever this is won’t be phased much by a blade.

“What’s up, Eth?” Bob says from the other line.

“Something’s wrong,” is all I can choke out.

“What? Are you okay?” He asks, voice now filled with concern.

“Bob, I-I-I-I don’t know how to explain it,” my words are stuttered and my hands are shaking. “It’s not… possible.”

“Slow down, bud. Just breathe,” He says, and I try to, taking a deep breath through my nose and exhaling out my mouth. I was too scared to close my eyes, though. “What happened?”

“I was cooking dinner. My back was facing the island in my kitchen, you know?” He gives a sound of confirmation that he knows what I’m talking about. “I’m leant over my stove, and I hear the sound of a glass being slung across the counter, and then it shatters. I turn around, and sure enough there’s a broken _fucking glass_ on the floor,” I say through gritted teeth, still staring where the shards were.

“Is someone in your house?” Bob says in a low voice, worry clearly rising in his voice as well, but he’s obviously trying to stay calm for me.

“That’s what I thought. I checked the whole house. Nothing,” I say, before getting to the part that makes me want to piss my pants. “Then, I walk back into the kitchen--” My eyes start tearing up from fear again, my voice cracking. I can only manage to get the next part out in a whisper. “And all of my cabinets and drawers are wide open. I’m talking drawers about to fall out of their slots, open.” Bob doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I’m nervously scanning the room, as well as the hall.

“That is… not possible unless there’s someone in your house,” He says slowly, dread filling my stomach.

“I know. But there _isn’t_ ,” I say, the knife wobbling in my hand from fear.

“Are you sure?” Bob asks.

“I’m not sure of anything _except_ that. I searched the whole house and turned on all the lights,” I say.

“Ok, give the house one more walk through, I’ll stay on the line,” He says, and I carefully exit the kitchen once more.

“Yeah, I’m not seeing anyone,” I say, getting to the hall with my bedroom and the guest room. That’s when I freeze, a noise catching in my throat.

“Ethan? Are you okay?” Bob asks, but I can’t answer as tears well up in my eyes, not believing what I’m staring at. “Ethan, what’s happening?”

“I turned the guest bedroom light on the first time I checked the house,” tears are rolling freely down my face, my voice cracking and shaky.

“Ok?” Bob asks, concern creeping up in his own voice.

“I’m staring at the guest bedroom doorway, and the light is off,” I can barely choke out a whisper, fear filling my whole body. I feel dizzy, like I might pass out, my knees buckling again.

“Ethan, you need to get the fuck out of there,” Bob says, the urgency in his voice making me whimper. “That is not possible unless someone is in your house. I’m on my way, get outside,” Bob says, and I hear rustling on the other side of the line. I don’t waste a second. I turn and run to my living room, shoving my keys and my mask in my pocket, grabbing my shoes, running out of my house and slamming the door. I sprint down my driveway, looking back at my house only once I’ve reached the end. All the lights are on, but the curtains are drawn. I study the windows, eyes wide, my stance wide in case I have to start running. I hear Bob’s voice come from the phone that is now hanging limply by my side. I put it back up to my ear. I hold the phone between my shoulder and my cheek, placing the knife on the ground next to me as I put on my shoes. I grab the knife once my shoes are on.

“Sorry, what’d you say?” I ask, slightly out of breath from both fear and sprinting at full speed.

“I just asked if you were okay,” Bob says, the sound of a car starting on his side.

“Physically I’m fine. I’m at the end of my driveway trying to watch my windows,” I explain, eyes still peeled and not moving from my home.

“Ok, stay there. I’ll be there in 20, maybe less since it’s like 1 AM,” Bob says. “If you see anything, though, run to the 7/Eleven by your house.” I’m grateful for Bob’s strategizing, because my head was spinning too much to think practically.

“Ok, smart. Can you stay on the line with me until you get here?” I ask.

“Yeah, of course. Any movement from your house?” He asks.

“No, not that I’ve seen,” I respond, still looking. Then, I gasp, almost dropping the phone and the knife from shock.

“Eth? What’s happening bud?” Bob asks.

“I… don’t understand…” Is all I can croak out, tears pooling in my eyes again from fear. I saw a dark, almost a shadow of a hand pull back one of my curtains, but there was no silhouette of a person. I would have seen the outline of a person behind it, but there was none, and before I knew it the curtain had fallen back into place. “I don’t…” I wasn’t making any sense, but _this_ wasn’t making any sense. Then, I see it. For just a flash. The silhouette of what seems to be a man flashes in one of my windows. I jump, my heart beginning to pound loud in my ears. It was gone before I could even blink, there’s no way a person could move that fast. It was as if lightning flashed, lighting up a window to reveal a person. Except there was no lightning. My lights were just on.

“Ethan?” I hear Bob call as I lower my phone without realizing it. Again, a flash of a figure in the window, this time it stays longer and I can clearly see the stature of a broad man, holding a hand up as if he’s waving at me. I can’t even make a noise. I just turn and start sprinting. I’m pumping my legs and arms as fast as they will take me, one hand gripping my phone, the other my knife, my mask in my back pocket where my keys also jingle with every step I take. I don’t stop sprinting the whole time, hearing blurbs of Bob calling my name through the speaker on my phone. It feels like whoever-- whatever-- was in that window is right behind me, that if I were to turn around I would see some man chasing me-- or worse. This makes me push my legs even faster, and I don’t dare to look back.

I run into the 7/Eleven parking lot, slowing and instantly turning so I can face the direction an attacker would be coming from. I sit down on one of the concrete dividers meant to block cars from hitting the curb, panting and wheezing. I let the hand with the knife fall limply between my legs, making sure to conceal it just in case the shopkeeper saw me. I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast in my life. I hear Bob’s muffled voice through the phone, and raise it to my ear.

“Come to the 7/Eleven,” I say, still panting. “I saw something.”

“Shit, are you safe?” Bob asks.

“Yeah, I just can’t wrap my head around what I saw,” I say, finally catching my breath a bit.

“What did you see?” Bob asks me, a blinker heard faintly in the background.

“Ok, I saw a hand reach around and move my curtain to the side--”

“Jesus fucking christ--” Bob interjects.

“It gets worse. It was pitch black-- and I’m not being racist, it was literally _black_. Not the color of any human. It looked like a more solid shadow,” I say, feeling shivers run down my spine. “But what’s weirder? There was no silhouette behind it, nothing like if a person were reaching and pulling back a curtain.”

“Are you sure?” Bob asks, and I scoff.

“Yes, this has all been burned into my brain. And there’s more. After that, I saw the figure of a man flash into the window, just staring straight at me through the curtain. And before I could even blink it was gone. He didn’t back out of view-- hell, he didn’t run out of view-- he was just there one second and gone the next. Then he flashed into the window again, but this time it stayed for longer, and he was holding a hand up like he was waving. Just as quickly it disappeared again,” I say, waiting for a response.

“That is… weird,” Bob says, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

“Look, I know it sounds insane, but I know what I saw,” I say.

“Hang on, I’m pulling in right now, get in the car and we’ll check it out,” I look up and sure enough I see his car pull into the parking lot. I get up, putting my phone in my pocket, and slide in the passenger’s seat, resting the knife on my lap “Jesus Christ! Did you sprint into a 7/Eleven parking with a butcher’s knife?” I look down and breathe a laugh.

“Yeah, I guess so. Honestly, I’ll take getting arrested over whatever the fuck that was any day,” I say, Bob pulling out of the parking lot.

“Ok, well we’re going to check it out and put an end to this, together,” Bob says, starting the quick drive down the street to my house.

“Is this a bad idea? Going back to a house that may or may not have a crazed man inside of it?” I ask.

“Oh it’s definitely a bad idea,” Bob says with a chuckle. “But you don’t want to call the cops for no reason.”

“True. I’d rather not call the cops at all, even if there is a person,” I say.

“Exactly, so that means we have to check it out eventually. Might as well be now. If it’s all clear, I can stay over with you. If it’s not we can run back to the truck and head back to my place,” he says, then adds, “Even if it is clear, we can still stay at my place if you want.” 

“Thanks,” I say, him already pulling into my driveway. I got out of the car, not bothering to pull my keys for the door because I left it unlocked in my hurry. Bob gets out as well, pulling out a metal bat from the backseat. He closes the door and locks his car and we head to my front door. I try to turn the door handle, but somehow, it is locked. I look at Bob with my eyebrows furrowed. “I ran out of here as quickly as I could. I didn’t bother locking the door and I know that for a fact.”

“Is it one of those self locking doors?” Bob asks as I get out my keys and unlock the door.

“No,” I say, putting my keys back in my pocket and kicking the door opening quickly with my foot. “Back to back, we search the house together. Do not leave from behind me for even a second,” I say as we enter my living room in crouched stances, both my hands gripping the handle of the knife and Bob holding the bat ready to swing. I close the door behind me with my foot, taking the lead. We search the house, Bob walking backwards, back practically pressed against mine. No one so far. Then, I stop just down the hall from the guest bedroom. Bob bumps into me slightly.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, fear creeping into his voice as well.

“Nothing. It’s just the guest bedroom. The light is still off,” I say, inching forward, my hands gripping the handle so tight my knuckles turn bleach white.

“Well, isn’t that better than it being turned back on?” He asks.

“I guess, it just means that I actually saw it in the first place,” I say, kicking the door the rest of the way open and quickly turning on the lights. Nothing. Bob and I search the closet and find nothing again, ending the search in my bedroom. We searched every inch of my house, and there wasn’t even a sign of a person being there. We sat on the edge of my bed.

“Ok, well whoever-- or whatever--” Bob adds after seeing my face, “was here is gone now.”

“If it was a ‘whatever’ technically it could still be here,” I say, matter of factly. “You say you believe everything I told you, so how can you believe it’s anything other than something… spiritual?”

“I do believe you, but you gotta admit it’s more likely that there are explanations for what you saw that you’re just not thinking of, rather than some other-wordly creature,” Bob says, and I sigh.

“Ok, but what’s that saying from that scholar? ‘Once you rule out the impossible, whatever’s left, no matter how improbable, must be the truth’?” I say, and Bob gives a short laugh.

“That ‘scholar’ was Sherlock Holmes, a fictional character. And I don’t think we have ruled out the impossible yet,” Bob says.

“So what do you think is the explanation?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him “How do you explain the shit with the curtains? No human can move that fast-- nor has skin like that.” “I think there was a person in your house, you saw them, a trick of the light mixed with fear made you misconstrue what you saw, Then when you left they probably did too, thinking you were getting help or the cops,” Bob explains.

“What about the cup? How did he move so silently that I didn’t hear _anything_ except the cup sliding across the counter and breaking?” I challenge.

“He could just be very silent and light-footed. You were a gymnast yourself--” was Bob’s rebuttal.“What about the cupboards and the drawers? How did he do all of that so quickly and _without me hearing a sound_?”

“Maybe he just moves quickly. He’s maybe done it a few times and is just really good at messing with people--”

“What about the door being locked? And don’t you ask me if I’m sure I left it unlocked because I’m _positive_ I did and you and I both know the chances of me stopping to lock the door while sprinting out of my house are slim to none,” I say, and Bob says.

“That one’s weird, but maybe he’s… just a weird person? Or maybe he did that to lock you out,” Bob says, and I groan.

“All of this reaching is less likely than it just being something we can’t explain,” I say, and Bob rolls his eyes, a small smile on his face.

“Well regardless, we’ve checked the house and it’s gone. We’ve locked all the windows and checked all the hiding spots. Do you want to stay here or spend the night at my place?” He asks.

“Here. Do you mind staying?” I ask.

“Nah, that’s fine, but I’m not sure I wanna sleep alone in a room. Whatever it is, person or not, we have better chances against it together, if it comes back,” Bob says, and I nod in agreement.

“Ok, thanks. We can sleep in the living room. You can take the pullout couch and I’ll take the love seat,” I say, getting up and grabbing blankets and pillows, throwing some at Bob. We go out to the living room and set up our sleeping arrangements. I place my knife on the coffee table next to the love-seat and turn on the TV, putting on The Office just to have something upbeat and easy to pay attention to. Bob settles into his place on the pullout couch, resting his bat against the side of the couch in reaching range. I lock the door and turn out the lights, running and launching myself onto the love-seat before quickly pulling the blankets over me. This gains me a laugh from Bob.

“Wow, you’re really worried about it being a ghost,” he says, sounding amused and surprised.

“Yes! And I don't know how you haven’t come to this conclusion as well!” I say with my own laugh.

“Well, you see, I’m much more afraid of the real threat of twisted humans than the imaginary threat of goblins and ghouls,” he says, and I just snort.

“Alright, but when you’re getting Paranormal Activity’d down the hall don’t come cryin’ to me,” I say, making him laugh.

“Sure thing, pal,” he chuckles before adding, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I say back through a yawn, suddenly exhausted now that the adrenaline had worn off. Soon enough, I find myself drifting to sleep. That night, I dream of dark, almond shaped eyes and a wide grin, and echoing deep laughs filling the atmosphere of my dreams.


	2. I've Seen the World Collect Your Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan awakes and tries to disprove the happenings from the night before. He learns a lot more about the spiritual world, all while managing to make Bob worry quarantine has gotten to him. A new threat looms in Ethan's house, leading Mark to have to reveal some truths he would have rather kept hidden.  
> TW: talk of suicide though no graphic descriptions, talk of depression and talk of implied self harm (All in the past, nothing happening in the moment and no graphic depictions. The type of self harm isn't even specified or hinted at, but this chapter does focus on dark themes.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I GOOFED IT YALL! I forgot like the first half of this chapter bc it was so long lmfao, so sorry about that! thank u to the person who pointed it out! it should all be here now

Besides weird dreams, nothing else happened last night. Bob left in the morning after making sure I felt comfortable, even offering for me to stay with him for a few days, but I declined. There were more than a few images I can’t get out of my head, one being the cabinets all opened, then another of course being that figure in the window. Bob’s still convinced someone broke into my house, but I know that can’t be the case. I checked every part of that house, and even if I missed some spots, there’s no way the person could have done all of that without me running into them, or at _least_ hearing them. Plus, whatever was in that window was not human, and that I was sure of.

Now I walk around my house on edge, jumping at the slightest creak. I keep thinking I see something in the corner of my eye, but every time I turn nothing is there. Now I sit at my desk, feeling ridiculous as I type in “proof ghosts are real” into the Youtube search bar. I roll my eyes at myself, a bit baffled that I’ve actually gotten to this point. As expected, almost every video is extremely fake and clickbait-y, outrageous thumbnails with bright colors, circles, and arrows pointing to what’s obviously just photo editing. I say almost every video, however, because one catches my eye. The thumbnail is just a screengrab, a girl sitting in her room and looking over her shoulder, the title reads “my house is haunted and I finally have proof.” I click on it, seeing that it’s only 10 minutes long.

The video opens up and the girl prefaces how weird things had been happening in her house, also since the beginning of quarantine, and how she was finally going to talk about it. As I watched more of the video, she was saying more and more things that I had been experiencing, which creeped me out enough to make me shrink down in my desk chair. Some of these were things like objects being in completely different places from where she put them, lights turning on or off, thinking she heard someone whispering just out of eyesight but no one being there when she checked, pretty… I guess ‘typical’ ghost stuff. Then, something happened that made me regret not staying with Bob.

“Alright, he likes to communicate with me in a lot of ways, but his favorite is with my door,” she moves to the side slightly so you can see her bedroom door, which was closed. “I finally got him to agree to be on camera, so let’s see if he still wants to,” she turns to her door, raising her voice a bit. “Jackson? Jackson are you ready?” She asks, not seeming phased at all by what she was attempting to do. “Open the door if you’re ready,” she says, and a small gasp escapes my mouth as I see the door open, slowly at first, but then gaining speed until it’s half way open. I pause the video and lean in, turning the brightness up on my computer so I could see if there was a person helping her do this. I couldn’t really see anything, though, since the door was only half open. I thought that was how she was playing it off, but then she addressed my exact concern.

“Thank you, Jackson, but people will think someone else is opening the door. Could you open it all the way for me, please?” She asks, almost as if she’s having a conversation with a child. A few seconds pass, but sure enough, the door swings all the way open, the doorknob bouncing on the wall slightly. There was no one in the hall, and the lights were on, leaving no place for someone to hide in the shadows. “Thank you, that’s perfect. Now, close the door if you’re still okay with me posting this to the internet,” she says, and I almost fall out of my chair when the door closes smoothly, with no help from anything else. She’s smiling now, clearly excited by what she’s documented.

“What the fuck…” I whisper to myself, leaning as close as I can to see the video. She turns back to the camera for a second to flash a smile, then looks back over her shoulder at the door.

“Ok, Jackson, you’re doing great. Open the door if you want to keep talking,” she says, but the door doesn’t open. She looks back at the camera with a shrug. “You gotta make sure they want to keep interacting with you. Don’t bother them if they don’t want to be bothered. Just be respectful and you shouldn’t have a problem, as long as it’s not seeking revenge, but that’s rare,” She says, as if she’s talking about something as casual as the weather. She signs off the video and I scour the comment section, looking for someone who has debunked it. There aren’t many comments because there aren’t many views on the video, and only one person brings up that maybe someone was using strong magnets on the door hinges, but that doesn’t seem very likely to me. I even sent a link to Bob, asking him to debunk it for me and if the magnets solution was plausible. He said that, admittedly, it would take really strong magnets, and it would only work closing the door. He said it had to be fake, but he couldn’t think of how they did it.

I fall down a bit of a Youtube rabbit hole trying to find real evidence of ghosts, and there were some videos that seemed like they could be real, but nothing like the first one. All of them had someone who gave a plausible explanation for how it could be faked, even if there wasn’t proof in the video that it was fake. I stopped once it started getting dark, knowing I didn’t need any extra help getting scared, and retired to the kitchen to cook dinner. I set up my speaker with bluetooth, playing one of my upbeat playlists in an attempt to fight off any spooks I was still feeling from my Youtube deep dive.

I was humming along to a song playing, plating my chicken fried rice, when the speaker suddenly cuts out. I look at it with furrowed eyebrows, pulling out my phone to check what happened. My phone was still connected and it said it was still playing the song, but no sound was coming out of the speaker. I push my fresh plate of food to the side and reach to grab the speaker, but right before my hand makes contact a loud static noise erupts from it, so loud I cover my ears and wince back in pain. The white noise seems to grow even louder, somehow louder than I think I’ve ever heard the speaker go. Then, a garbled, deep, distorted voice cuts in and out of the white noise, not saying anything, more like just… growling. I get that familiar chill up my spine, and I pause the music on my phone, but as I expected, it did nothing. The awful noise continues until I remove my other hand from my ear and grab the speaker, turning it off.

“What the _fuck_ ,” I mutter to myself, grabbing my plate and a fork, heading to eat and watch TV. I’m watching Master Chef, almost done with my food, when the TV cuts to a black screen. “Oh, come fucking on!” I say, dropping my fork on my plate with a loud * _clink_ *. I grab the remote and hit the power button, but since the blue light hadn’t switched to red before I hit it, it just now turned off. I hit it again, thinking maybe it just needed to be switched on and off. It comes on and does something it’s never done, cut to TV static, white noise filling the room. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but tried to ignore the creeping fear, as it’s probably just a problem with the internet. That would explain both the speaker and the TV, which is run based on the internet since it’s a smart TV, acting up.

Then, the static noises start getting louder and louder, just like the speaker did, until I have to clap my hands over my ears once more. An even weirder thing happens next; the static cuts off all at once and an image flashes on the screen before quickly cutting back to loud static. It was only up for a second, maybe not even, but I recognized it instantly.

“How is that fucking possible?” I whisper to myself, not sure if fear or confusion was the overwhelming feeling in my body. It was an image of a smile, specifically a sickly amused grin. It was something I had seen in my dreams last night. Or maybe they were nightmares. I couldn’t tell. All I remember is this deep, booming voice saying things like “ _Finally you’re realizing_ ,” and that exact smile. Once I realize there’s no fixing this in its current state, I quickly turn the TV off with a huff. I get up and grab my plate, rinsing it off in the sink before I decide to just retire to my room for the night. I lay awake for a while, trying to think if I really saw what I saw, or if my tired and paranoid brain had just made me hallucinate. Was I going insane? I grab my pillow and put it over my face, groaning into it. I remove the pillow and roll over, somehow forcing my overactive mind into a sleep state.

/ 

“ _The backwards clock is always creeping_

_I don’t look back I’m ever seeking_

_You can’t kill what you can’t bring down_ ” 

These are the words that make me shoot straight up in my bed with a gasp, along with a weird chiming noise. I grab at my bed for some reason, as if that will help me come to my senses faster. My eyes dart around the dark room, but it’s pitch black and I can’t see anything, so obviously it’s still in the middle of the night. The chiming picks up pace slightly, almost musically so.

“ _Addiction has it’s elements of fun_

 _You say I’m sick and twisted yet you’re_ ” The next words chorus together and this is what makes me realize it actually _is_ music. Not only is it music, but it’s music that’s blasting very loudly in my room.

“ _Dead alive yet fresh completely numb_

_I’ve seen the world collect your_

_Sun I’ve seen the world collect your sun_

_What’s done is done_

_What’s done is_ ” The slow chiming resumes, before drums and a synth come blasting into what seems to be the chorus. I look and I finally see the blue blinking light of my speaker--which definitely was not in my room when I fell asleep-- signalling that it was connected to my phone. I reach over to my nightstand and turn on the bedside lamp. Sure enough, I see my speaker on my dresser. I grab my phone, which is also on the nightstand, and the screen lights up as I raise it. “Backwards Clock” by a band I had never heard before, called Brick + Mortar, is playing on my phone. I pause the music, delving me into a silence that makes my ears ring. My hands start to tingle and I feel the hairs raise on the back of my neck, that familiar fear seeping into my stomach. I pull my knees to my chest and place my hands on the back of my neck, rocking slightly, too many questions racing in my head. How did the speaker get in my room? How did it start playing a song I’ve never heard before from a band I’ve never even heard the name of? My first thought was someone was in my house, but I quickly dismissed that. They would have had to have known the password on my phone to get into the music app, as well as connect to the speaker. Whatever this was, it very clearly wasn’t a person.

That notion is what perhaps sent me over the edge, as my eyes prickled and soon after a few lone tears were rolling down my cheeks. What was happening? Was I just going insane? Could even the most insane person hallucinate all of this? I let out a whimper as more tears began to roll down my face, confusion and helplessness now definitely being the overriding feelings. I’m at a loss for what to do. If I call Bob, he’ll think it’s a person again-- or worse, he’ll think I actually am going insane. Maybe I am.

I buried my head in my knees, wrapping my arms around my legs now, sitting in a ball and feeling like a scared child. More sniffles and whimpers left my body, my legs becoming wet from my nose and eyes as I tried to calm myself down and think of what to do.

“Hey,” the whisper in my ear sends me flying. I jump off my bed with a choked cry, falling to the floor and scrambling to grab the door handle. I grab onto it and pull myself up, as well as open the door and run out into my dark hallway. Instantly I regret this decision as I stare into the dark emptiness, the light switch being all the way down the hall. I gulp and fall back into my room, closing the door and backing up against the far wall. My chest is heaving and I feel my heart thudding in my chest, in my throat, all around me. I sink down into a crouch, wrapping my hands around my knees, my eyes wide and frantic as my breaths wrack my chest faster and faster. My eyes are darting around the room, but I feel like I’m seeing nothing, everything blending together into one blur. I squeeze my eyes shut and grab my head with both hands. I’ve never felt more out of control in my life. I can’t even cry I’m so bent out of shape.

“You’re going insane,” I gasp out between my ragged breaths.

“You’re actually not,” I let out a high pitched squeak as my head shoots up to a chair I have in my room, where the voice came from. I feel like my heart stops when I actually see a _man_ in the chair. I just stare, wide eyed and panting at him, unable to do anything but close and open my mouth over and over. “Jeez, I actually feel kinda bad. No one ever gets this scared already,” He says, my breaths slowing just slightly, and for a moment, I’m convinced I’ve already died.

“Am I dead?” I ask, still staring at him, bug-eyed. He breaths a laugh.

“No, _you’re_ not dead,” he says simply, but how he says it implies that one of us is. I press my back even further into the wall, not taking my eyes off him. “Relax, I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he says with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

“So… does that mean you’re dead?” I ask, looking him up and down.

“Me? Oh yeah, as a doornail,” he says, once again sounding so casual he could be talking about sports or the news. My eyebrows furrow, still not leaving his form.

“Oh my god, I’ve actually gone fucking crazy,” I say, finally snapping my eyes away from him and looking at the floor, rubbing my temples with my fingers.

“I mean, if it helps to believe that, you can,” he says with a shrug. “But you haven’t. I’m dead, but still real.” He gives a smile, and that’s when it clicks. I narrow my eyes at his, leaning closer ever so slightly. But I was positive. That smile, those eyes, that deep voice. They were the ones from my dream, and the grin on my TV.

“H-how…” I shake my head, not even knowing the question I need to ask. He chuckles.

“I guess I don’t know how. I don’t think anyone that’s dead or alive does,” he says with a shrug. “I mean, there’s a lot of things in life people don’t really know how it works, but they just do.”

“Mmm nothing as big as this,” I say, my voice high pitched and squeaky.

“What about bluetooth? No one questions that, but people use it every day,” he says, making me blink a few times.

“It’s radio waves,” I say, and he scoffs.

“Yeah, what does that mean? How do those radio waves connect to each other? What does it even do to make it work?” He raises his eyebrows at me, and I go to answer, but then stop myself. How _does_ bluetooth work? Then I shake my head.

“Not the point,” I say, blinking back at him. “W-what… what…” I shake my head and narrow my eyes, just looking at him, “What?” Is what I settle with. He chuckles a bit harder than before at this.

“I died, not sure how long ago-- time is kind of irrelevant when you’re dead,” He shakes his head and quirks his eyebrows. “Ya know, since living people just make it up because they can’t process time _not_ existing.”

“I knew that, but to be told it from a dead person-- or from my own mental breakdown hallucination-- is a whole different bag of grapes,” I say, surprised that my breathing had somehow slowed, and my heartbeat was almost at a normal pace. However, I’m still staring at him, and I am definitely still half convinced I finally snapped. “Ok, if you’re dead, how did you die?”

“Ya know, that’s kind of a taboo question,” he says with a small point of his finger. “Kinda like if you’re in prison, you’re not supposed to ask why someone’s in prison.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I rush, fear spiking into me once more, like that was going to make him go awol.

“It’s fine,” he says with another wave of his hand, adding “I don’t remember, anyway.”

“You… don’t remember?” I ask with a raise of my eyebrows.

“Nope,” he says simply, pressing his lips into this weird line that doubles as a smile.

“... Feels kind of like something you would remember,” I say after a small silence.

“I mean, some people remember, but some don’t. I guess I’m one of the ones who doesn’t,” he says with a shrug.

“Oh, that sucks,” I say on instinct, and he tilts his head.

“Does it? I think it’s nice. I’d rather not know what gruesome, painful, or embarrassing end I met. Allows me to go on existing without being all doom and gloom,” He says, and I think about it. I guess that makes sense. I probably wouldn’t be able to stop reliving (no pun intended) what happened. At least this way you could essentially pretend you’re still alive.

“So… does everybody just… stick around?” I ask.

“Nah, some choose to Pass on, but you can only do that if you know how you died,” he explains, tone as casual as ever. “Even then, some people who know how they died still choose to stay.”

“Why would they do that?” I ask with a shake of my head.

“Well, a lot of reasons,” he rests his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his head in his hand. “Maybe they have loved ones they want to stick around, or maybe they’re scared to find out what’s next.”

“Huh,” I say, staring off. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Yeah, I’m not really sure what happens after you move on from this place,” he says, looking around. “But there’s always a chance it’s worse. Lonelier. And it’s already pretty fuckin’ lonely,” he says that last part with a short laugh, but there isn’t as much humor behind his eyes as before. I can’t help but just stare at him. He chuckles.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“I’d tell ya to take a picture so it will last longer, but chances are I won’t show up,” he says, laughing at his own joke. If the situation weren’t so fucking weird, and I wasn’t still questioning if I had actually lost my mind, I would’ve probably laughed too.

“So all those pictures people have of ghosts--”

“--Are fake? Almost definitely. If you can capture something not alive on camera, chances are it’s not just a ghost,” he cuts in, which makes a small chill run down my spine.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“It’s probably best we don’t get into that conversation right now…” he trails off, his eyes darting around the room briefly, this being the first time I’ve seen him really display any emotion besides nonchalance. “It’s a lot to take in all at once. Maybe best to save it for the day.”

“Can I still see you during the day?” I ask.

“If I want you to,” he smirks.

“Wait, so you’ve just been torturing me this whole time?” I say once I realize he’s just been fucking with me for no good reason.

“I wouldn’t say _torture_ ,” he rolls his eyes. “Messing with you? Sure.”

“Why?” I ask, shaking my head at him, finally letting my legs stretch out, my knees aching from stiffness. He shrugs.

“I get bored,” he says simply. “Plus, you’re cute when you’re scared.” This is a statement that catches me off guard for about a million reasons. I just blink back rapidly at him, shaking my head. He chuckles at me once more.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I keep blinking. “System… rebooting… too many things at once,” I say, not able to process a single thing that’s happened-- especially that sentence. This makes him laugh, a bit harder than his chuckles, and it seems like everything he does catches me off guard. But what’s to expect from an alleged spirit, I suppose.

“It’s fine, I’m sure it’s a lot,” He says.

“Yeah… and you’re just so…” I try and think of the word. “Human,” is what I settle on.

“Well, I was one once, and I don’t think all that long ago,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. From the looks of his clothes, he was right. He had a button up left open, a black tightly fit T-shirt, and tight, khaki colored pants, as well as Converse. As far as I’m concerned, he could blend in on the street today easily.

“Sorry, guess you’re right. People talk about ghosts so much I forget that they’re supposed to have been people at all,” I say, realizing that-- if this is real-- that’s pretty fucked up.

“Don’t worry about it,” He says with a shrug, seeming actually unphased. I’m glad I hadn’t offended him. “Plus, not all things of my world were ever alive.” I tilt my head at this.

“What do you mean?” I ask again.

“Like I said, probably best for another time,” He says with a little wave.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask your name while my life was flashing before my eyes,” I say, making him chuckle.

“It’s Mark, nice to meet you, Ethan,” He says, extending his hand. I furrow my brows for two reasons.

“One; how did you know my name,” I say, holding up a finger before pointing it at his outstretched hand, “Two; can I physically shake your hand?”

“Uh, one; I’ve been here since before you moved in. I’ve heard not only other people say your name, but also you when you talk to yourself--” this instantly makes my face heat. Oh god, I haven’t even been thinking about the things he’s seen. “And two; why don’t you find out for yourself?” I look at his hand, then back at his face, then back at his hand as I reach out, letting out a small gasp when I actually grasp it. I shake it, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows and an unsure look on my face. Mark leans back in his chair once I let go.

“Wait, wait, wait--” I shake my head and wave my hands back and forth, as if to say ‘time out.’ “So… how much have you… seen, exactly?” I clear my throat after the question. He smirks at me.

“Well, I try not to intrude on anything too,” his eyes flick across me up and down, making me blush again. “Intimate. But sometimes you don’t really give much of a warning, man.” Instantly I bury my face into my hands and groan.

“Not only is a ghost making me blush-- which is very surreal, by the way--” I say once I remove my hands, staring at the ground as I speak, “but a ghost has also seen me jack off.”

“Hey, not fully,” Mark says, as if that’s supposed to comfort me at all. “I’m not some kind of pervert. Every time I see you unbuckle your belt--”

“--Oh, dear god--” I cut in, putting my face in my hands once more.

“--Or hear you… making noises--”

“Kill me. Just-- just kill me,” I breath, wiping my hands down my face rough enough to drag the skin down.

“--I always leave you be!” He finishes, and I just stare at him, not comforted even slightly. “Also, while technically if I tried hard enough I _could_ kill you, that’s a lot of effort and chances are I wouldn’t succeed.”

“Ah, uh… good to know,” I say and swallow a bit harder than I expected. He seems like a trustworthy enough… spirit… but this situation is still deeply unsettling. “Honestly, I’m convinced this is some weird dream and I’m gonna wake up tomorrow and none of this will have happened, right up to my speaker still being in the kitchen.”

“Unfortunately, or fortunately, this is not a dream, beloved,” he purrs with a smug smile, and I can’t help but tingle a bit at the nickname. Yeah, this is definitely just some weird dream of mine that’s revealing a kink I didn’t know I had.

“Well, with how tired I suddenly am, maybe I’m inclined to believe that,” I say after I yawn into my shirt.

“I’ll let you get some rest,” he says with a smug smile as I climb into bed. He gets up and walks to my door, and I can’t help but watch his movements. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry, still pretty positive I’ve lost my mind,” I say with a nod, pulling my blanket up.

“It’s fine, you’ll have to believe me eventually,” he says with a sigh. “You want me to get the light?” He asks, and I narrow my eyes at the bedside lamp, then at him.

“Yeah…” I say, very unsure of my answer. If it turns off, I’m either _very_ insane or this is real. He chuckles, leaning over and flicking the light off. This in itself almost wakes me up enough to not go to sleep, but the adrenaline crash was catching up to me now.

“Goodnight, Ethan,” I hear Mark say, and while I feel like he’s left, and I can’t see or hear him in the dark, I never heard my door open and close. I close my eyes, forcing myself to ignore all the occurrences that just happened until morning.

/ 

I wake up to light flitting in through my drapes and birds chirping outside my window. I stretch and sit up a bit, yawning as I rub sleep out of my eyes.

_Man, I had such a weird nightmare last night_

That’s when my eyes snapped all the way open, and I sat fully up, darting to my dresser. Sure enough, my speaker was there. I shook my head and blinked my eyes, making sure that, once again, I was really seeing this.

“It was… real?” I say, getting up and examining the speaker. “No, you know what. It couldn’t have been. I clearly just sleepwalked, got the speaker, and brought it in here during that nightmare,” I say firmly, considering this is the most likely scenario. So what if I had never sleepwalked in my life? People start out of nowhere all the time.

“You really still trying to convince yourself of that?” I hear a voice behind me, making me jump and spin around. A stuttered sound left my mouth as sure enough, Mark, the man from my nightmares, was standing in front of me.

“I’m still sleeping,” I say simply, walking past him and lying back down in the bed, closing my eyes. “And… wake up!” I say, waiting for the dream to fade away and I awake to the same room, but no Mark and no speaker. I hear a chuckle.

“Sorry, sweetness, you’re already awake,” Mark says smoothly, and I feel the bed dip. My eyes shoot open to see him sitting on the end, looking at me with an amused look in his eyes.

“I don’t accept that,” I say simply, pinching myself on the arm, hard, before letting out a cry. “Ow! Fuck,” I hiss, rubbing my arm. I sit up with a sigh. “Ok, so I’m insane then. Quarantine has finally flipped the switch.”

“Yeah, that’s fucking wild. Glad I died before the world fell into a pandemic,” Mark says simply. “But, no, once again. You haven’t gone insane.”

“I literally do not think my brain can process that,” I say, shaking my head at him a little. He breathes a laugh.

“Hey, I can’t blame you. I didn’t believe in ghosts,” He says, before tipping his head slightly and adding, “Until I became one, of course.”

“I… do believe in ghosts--” I said, furrowing my own eyebrows at myself. Do I? I thought I did, but here we are... 

“Then why is this so hard for you?” Mark laughs a deep, rumbling laugh, which makes me scoff.

“I… don’t know,” I say honestly. “Like, I didn’t think it was possible to be… this real? I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Ah, you didn’t think we could appear as regular humans and only as, say, cheap haunted house tricks?” He offers and I nod.

“Yeah, exactly. Like I thought the most you could do was, well, the shit you were doing before, basically. And even that was a stretch from my preconceived notions.”

“Well, at first that is all we can do. I guess some ghosts never really get past that point,” he says, and I furrow my brows at him.

“So what makes _you_ able to do this?” I ask, gesturing to his pretty solid form.

“I think it’s emotions. Strong emotions. If I feel strongly enough about wanting to show myself, I can, and I can even materialize into something solid,” he says, tapping my knee with his finger. A shiver runs through my body, and I hope that it doesn’t offend him. If it does, he doesn’t let on.

“Why do you feel so strongly about showing yourself to me?” I ask. He waits for a moment before answering, seeming to think about my question.

“I don’t know. Ever since you moved in, I’ve been more fascinated with you than the residents before you,” he says with a shrug, and I smile.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” I say with a chuckle, which he returns. “Why did it take you so long to show yourself, then? I’ve lived here for nearly two years.”

“At first, I didn’t have enough… I guess, emotion, to show myself. I couldn’t even move things to the extent I do until a few months ago,” he says, which makes me think.

“That’s around when quarantine started,” I comment, which makes him look pensive.

“Well, I’m certainly not the only thing that’s grown stronger since then…” He trails off, looking down as he thinks.

“What do you mean? Last night you were saying about how ‘not everything was alive once’,” I say, air quoting. He sighs.

“Strap in, this is going to be a lot,” he says, and I just keep looking at him expectantly. “Spirits like me are people who were once alive and have died. If they know how they died, they can choose to Pass, but some don’t. You know that much,” he says, and I nod. “But there are… things that aren’t dead or alive, and never were.” This sends another shiver down my spine, but I ignore it as he continues. “The closest thing that we-- humans-- ever got to a name for them, are demons.”

“God, I was afraid you were gonna say that,” I scoff, widening my eyes and crossing my legs underneath myself.

“They’re much less common than humans think, especially nowadays. And they aren’t religious in origin, but most religions have generally the same understanding of them from over the years of actual encounters with them,” he says, and I raise a hand, making him laugh a full laugh that starts deep, and bubbles into something higher pitched. This makes me smile. “Yes?” He asks after his laughter dies down.

“You say they’re less common now, why?” I ask.

“I think it’s to do with the internet. At least, that’s the theories of other once-human spirits that were alive before the internet. There was no way to capture them and prove that they were real, so they could wreak havoc without people knowing their name,” he says, which makes a look of confusion wash over my face. He explains before I need to ask. “Knowing the name of a demon is how you gain power over it-- something a few religions have gotten right. They protect their identity and their name like their life-- or existence, I suppose-- depends on it, because it does. Learn a demon’s name, you can banish it, and in some cases, even control it.” He pauses for a second, giving me time to wrap my head around all of this.

“So, where do demons come from?” I ask.

“I’m not really sure, I don’t think anyone is. But, they grow and can manifest when there’s a lot of trauma or negative energy surrounding a place--” his words spark something in me.

“Wait, and you said they’ve been getting… stronger since a few months ago?” I ask, and he nods. “That makes total fucking sense! Disaster, chaos, and sadness is filling the entire world right now. Everyone is suffering because of the pandemic, and even rich people who are physically protected from it are feeling the mental struggle. Not that the world isn’t fucked up without a pandemic, but it’s exponentially worse now,” I say, and he bites his lip as he seems to think about this.

“I mean, it’s as good of a guess as any,” he says after a moment. “Even once-humans like me have been getting stronger from the amplification of emotions. We can sort of feed off of that stuff, but the difference between demons and us is that we can gain energy from positive and negative emotions, while demons can only gain strength from negativity-- and usually it has to be really dark energy. Not just a case of feeling a little down one day.”

“God, it’s worrying me that this all makes sense in my mind,” I say, running my hand through my hair, which makes him chuckle. “Plus, through the internet and the news we’re exposed to so much horrible shit on the daily, even if something isn’t happening _to_ us, we’re forced to see it one way or another. In some cases it’s needed, but a lot of being tuned into the media is just having a constant stream of trauma porn.” I sigh and shake my head.”God, if the violent racism on top of a pandemic wasn’t enough, now we have _demons_ getting in on it too? Jesus fucking christ,” I rub my hands over my face.

“Wait, so can demons… hurt you?” I ask. Mark thinks about this.

“Not in the way they can hurt humans. I’m already dead and can’t feel physical pain, but…” a dark look washes over his eyes. “They can Corrupt my soul. Which, in it’s own way, is excruciatingly painful-- not only to go through, but to fight off as well. It’s like they try and tear your very being apart, ripping your soul into fragments. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I haven’t seen it happen, thankfully.”

“What happens if they succeed?” I ask.

“We supposedly turn into these negative entities. Not quite demon, not quite human spirit. Something in between. When you see angry spirits, it’s likely this is what’s happened to them. It’s an extremely tortuous existence. Right now, I have the ability to be happy, sad, feel love or anger,” he says, shaking his head before continuing. “They can feel nothing but pure rage and sorrow. Once Corrupted, a soul has no chance of passing on.” There’s a silence, and I feel such a deep sadness at the thought.

“That’s so… awful. I can’t even imagine…” I shake my head, stopping my words. He seems to be taken aback by my reaction, but only for a moment. Just thinking about that existence for basically anyone who was once human, it breaks my heart. Mark just nods, not saying anything, so I decide to change the subject with another question. “Last night you said ghosts who were humans can’t show up, like, physically on camera, but other things can. Does that mean demons can show themselves on film?” I ask.

“If they want to. That’s why the real evidence of demons or anything spiritual is so minimal, because only really brave or powerful demonic entities mess around with revealing themselves on film. At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” he says, and a humorous thought comes to my head.

“What, do you and a bunch of other ghosts go to the local spirit coffee shop for Sunday brunch?” I ask, a smirk tugging on my lips. He scoffs.

“There are _more ghosts_ here?” I ask, my eyes widening. Mark seemed fine enough, but who knew how nice they were. Not to mention, my head was spinning from just _one_ spirit.“No, not anymore. They chose to Pass after I helped them figure out how they died,” he said, and I just nodded, feeling a little sad for Mark, who was stuck here.

“How’d they die?” I asked, figuring he wouldn’t get offended for them.

“Double homicide. Someone broke into their house and stabbed them both to death, and then ran off with their newborn baby,” he said, his voice somber.

“Jesus, that’s awful,” I said, and he nodded. “Wait, the realtors have to tell me when anyone died in the house in the past ten years. Why didn’t I hear about you or the couple?”

“Well, spirits tend to haunt land, a person, or an object. Rarely an actual building. This house was built after the one they lived in was torn down. Plus, they died in the 80’s,” he says and I nod before asking another question.

“So, doesn’t that mean you either died more than 10 years ago, or you didn’t die on this property?” I ask, and he takes a moment to think before explaining.

“I guess so. People think spirits haunt places because they died there, when that’s not really the case at all. Spirits haunt things they have a strong emotional connection to, and it doesn’t matter if that connection was formed while they were alive or when they were dead. There’s this weird, I dunno-- grace period, after you die, where you get free roam of the world. If you can’t Pass on or don’t want to, you have to find something that you have a strong enough emotional Tie to stay,” he explains.

“What happens if you don’t find something before the grace period is over?” I ask.

“No one really knows, but we’re pretty sure you just… stop existing entirely,” he says, an uncomfortable silence falling over us as I think about what that entails. My mind couldn’t picture it, but I didn’t like how the thought made me feel so… alone.

“That’s awful…” I trail off. I didn’t like thinking about me not existing. I didn’t like thinking about Mark just ceasing to exist. I never knew for sure if there was something past death, but I always chose to believe there was, because the idea that you’re just… gone… was too much.

“Yeah, it’s scary to think about,” he says, his voice somber as he stares off into nothing in particular.

“So, your… ‘Tie’, is the land here?” I ask with air quotes, a bit confused when he looks at me and takes a second to respond.

“Yeah,” he breaths out. “It is.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t stop existing,” I say with a smile, which he returns, although his was a bit more somber than mine.

“Thanks, me too,” he says with a chuckle.

“Hey! You said you helped that couple Pass on by figuring out how they died, right?” I asked, getting an idea.

“Yeah…?” He says more like a question, looking at me quizzically.

“What if I help you figure out how you died! You must want to stop being trapped here, right?” I ask, and a weird look washes over his face, one I can’t really read.

“I dunno, you don’t have to--”

“Don’t worry! I wanna help you, I can’t imagine how boring and lonely it must be,” I say, yet another unreadable look washing over his face, before he gives a shrug.

“Alright, sure, if you want to,” he says, and I grab my phone.

“Ok, this should be easy. If you give me your last name I can look for your death record,” I say, opening my browser. “What is it?”

“Uh... Sanderson,” he says after slight hesitation, which I do wonder why he hesitated, but I assumed you might forget your name after never having to say it.

“Ok, and is Mark your full first name?” I say, making him chuckle.

“What would Mark be short for?” He asks.

“I dunno,” I roll my eyes at him. “Markothy? Marcus?” My words make him burst out into that bubbling, full laugh of his that I’ve only really gotten a glimpse of, him throwing his head back slightly and his eyes squeezing shut.

“You thought of Markothy before Marcus?” He says through remnants of laughter, which makes me erupt into my own laughter.

“Listen man, I’m doin’ this for you,” I say with a smile, pointing at my phone.

“Alright, fair,” he says, laughter dying down.

“Hmm,” I say, “The only Mark Sanderson I can find a death report of died all the way in New York from a heart attack, and he was 68,” I look at him, inspecting his face before looking his body up and down (which for some reason, makes my face heat.) “Yeah, you don’t look 68.”

“Gee, thanks,” he says sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

“Weird they wouldn’t have your death record,” I say, scrolling through the browser feed to see if there was anything I was missing.

“They don’t always release death records to the public, do they?” He asks.

“I’m pretty sure the record of it happening is public knowledge, just not the actual death certificate,” I say, furrowing my eyebrows at my screen. “But I could be wrong.”

“I guess not, if mine’s not available,” he says, and I sigh, putting my phone away.

“Well, that was a bust. How did you help the couple?” I ask.

“We tried to trigger memories of just before they died. It can be really… hard, and if you have no idea what to go off of it can take ages,” he said.

“Ok, well we could try and do that, if you want? But I don’t want to put you through something that’s too much,” I said, realizing I was asking him to relive the most traumatic part of his life, literally.

“We can give it a shot,” he said, shrugging.

“So what triggered their memory?” I ask.

“It was easily our, like, two hundredth try, and keep in mind all three of us were dead and this was before the… energy surge, so it took forever for us to muster up enough energy to move all of these objects. Especially since the house stayed empty for so long after I died,” he said, me nodding to convey I was listening. “But basically, I had them both lie down where their bed would have been, had it been the original house, and pretend to sleep. I came charging at them with a knife, climbing on top of them, and then they went into this catatonic state. And then they sort of just, faded away in front of me.” Mark was telling the story in a calm voice, but it made my heart ache.

“You didn’t get to say goodbye?” I ask, not meaning for my voice to come out so soft.

“I did. Every time before we tried we would say goodbye, because we knew the chances of us getting to after we succeeded was probably, well, none,” he said, another sad silence washing over us.

“Well, I’m sure wherever they are, they’re still grateful to you for helping them,” I say with a smile. He gives a small smile back. Then, my phone rings, and the screen reveals that it’s Bob. I hold a finger up to Mark, laughing a bit at how ridiculous all this was.

“Hang on, it’s my friend,” I say.

“Maybe don’t tell him about… all of this?” Mark suggests.

“Oh, don’t worry. He won’t believe me no matter what I say,” I chuckle, picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“How’s your ghost?” Bob asks sarcastically into the phone. I can’t help but laugh and look at Mark, who quirks an eyebrow at me.

“How’s my ghost?” I ask out loud so Mark can hear, him chuckling as well. “Oh, he’s doing great, thanks for asking.” The smile on my lips is so big it seeps into my words.

“Oh, so it’s a he?” Bob asks, and I decide to just put him on speakerphone.

“Yeah-- wait, actually I didn’t really ask--” I look at Mark, mouthing ‘he?’ He nods in agreement, giving a thumbs up. “Yup, he.”

“Glad you’re worried about a fictional entity’s pronouns, shows character,” Bob says.

“Just common decency. Plus, the fictional part is debatable,” I say, looking at Mark, who is chuckling.

“Uh-huh. Debatable by not only me, but science as well,” Bob says in a flat tone, making both Mark and I laugh. “Is someone there with you?” Bob asks, Mark and I freezing once we realize he has in fact heard two sets of laughter.

“I mean, that’s kind of what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time,” I say easily, knowing he wouldn’t believe me, making him snort. 

“Yeah, ok, sure. Anyway, I was wondering if Sean and I could come over--” Bob says, Sean’s thick Irish accent suddenly filling the phone.

“We have drinks!” He yells, making me chuckle.

“Yes, we have drinks,” Bob says, much quieter. I look at Mark, realizing I kinda just promised to help him figure out how he died.

“Hang on one sec,” I say, muting the mic on my phone. “You mind if we get to the whole ‘how you died’ thing another day? And do you care if they come over, I guess you’re kinda like my roommate,” I say, instantly laughing and then clapping a hand over my mouth. “Sorry, a lot of this still feels like I’ve just delved into the deep end of insanity.” Luckily, he laughs back.

“Sorry, thought there was someone at my door,” I lie, adding “Yeah you guys can come over. Where’s Wade?”

“He’s doing something with Molly,” Bob says, and I nod, even though he can’t see me. Molly is Wade’s wife.

“Alright, cool, how long until you get here?” I ask.

“Well, Sean and I just picked up the alcohol from the 7/Eleven down the street from your house--” I hear a car door shut both outside and over the phone, making me laugh. “So right now, sorry,” Bob says, but I could tell he was not sorry. Nor did I care, really.

“Oh shit, okay hang on,” I say, hanging up the phone, turning to Mark.

“Do you… want to act like a friend of mine so you can hang out?” I ask, and Mark chuckles.

“I think it’s best if I only show myself to you. Plus, won’t they ask why you have a random man at your house in the middle of quarantine?” He asks.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. They know I’ve been limiting myself to only seeing them and Wade. And even then, it’s rare,” I say, grabbing clothes from my dresser. I almost rip off my shirt, but then pause, looking back at Mark. “Uh, do you, um--”

“Oh-- yeah, right-- my bad,” he stutters, and it’s the first time I’ve really seen him caught off guard. It makes me laugh a little. I turn and grab socks, and by the time I turn around, Mark is gone. I look around, expecting to see him hiding in the corner, but that’s when it really hits me. Mark isn’t alive. Yeah, I knew he wasn’t, logically, and I’m kind of coming around to the fact I might not be losing my mind, but this really solidified it. It made me sad, that Mark couldn’t hang out with us, that he probably couldn’t leave the house with me if we wanted to. Sure, he seems happy enough, but I can’t help but feel a tug at my heart when I think about how lonely he must be.

Regardless, I shake it off and get changed, dipping into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face before going to greet Bob and Sean. I open the door, both of them smiling with their masks dangling by one ear, Sean holding up a six pack of Smirnoff Ice and a six pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Hanging by his side, Bob was holding a six pack of beer, the brand being one I don’t recognize. I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, myself.

“Hey, ghost boy,” Bob teases, both of them shuffling in as I move to the side, closing the door behind them. “We brought some drink options,” he adds as I chuckle.

“So what’s this about your house being haunted?” Sean asks, them going to the kitchen to put the drinks in the fridge. We each grab one drink of our choosing, Sean going for a Mike’s, me going for an Ice, and Bob going for a beer, before sitting down in my living room. I recounted the night that Bob had to drive over, but left out everything from last night except the speaker going crazy in the kitchen and then appearing in my room, playing an unfamiliar song. I didn’t even bring up the TV. It’s at the point where there’s so much hard evidence, that if I thought I was going crazy and I _actually witnessed it_ , the chances of them wanting to send me to inpatient after I told them everything would be pretty fucking high.

“I dunno, that is a lot,” Sean said in my defense. “How do you explain the speaker ending up in his bedroom and blasting music?”“He probably brought it in there and forgot,” Bob rolled his eyes and took a sip. “Or he sleepwalked.”

“I mean, I’ve never sleepwalked in my life, but sure, why not start now,” I chuckle, almost laughing more at the fact that I was having this exact argument with myself not long ago, except I was mostly on Bob’s side.

“It’s not impossible,” Bob said, and I nodded in agreement, also taking a sip of my drink.

“So, what’s Boo Boy’s name?” Sean asked, and I laughed at the nickname.

“Mark,” I say, causing Bob to chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? And how’d you learn that?” Bob asked in a teasing tone. I smiled and shrugged.

“Call it a gut feeling,” I said, drinking more.

“Honestly, Bob, there’s a good amount of this you can’t explain,” Sean said, making Bob roll his eyes.

“Oh god, not you too,” Bob said, making Sean shrug and hold both his hands up in defense.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sean’s voice was high pitched, before lowering back to normal. “Maybe our sweet baby boy isn’t so delusional.”

“Well, I never said he was delusional,” Bob said, chuckling. “Those would indeed be your words and not mine.” I looked at Sean and slowly blinked at him.

“Hey, I’m the one defending your haunted house, don’t even start,” Sean says before taking a sip, which makes me laugh.

“Alright, fair enough,” I say, chugging as much of my drink as I can.

“There is, uh, something else I brought, however,” Bob says, grabbing his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ll be right back.” Sean and I furrow our eyebrows at each other as the front door closes behind Bob.

“Do you know what this is about?” I ask Sean.

“Not a clue,” Sean says, shaking his head. It’s not long before Bob comes back, holding something behind his back.

“Now, I’m not the one who believes in this stuff, so if you don’t wanna do it-- it’s ok,” Bob says, making me narrow my eyes at him in confusion. Then, he pulls out a rectangular box from behind his back, and I feel a tinge of fear run through me as I read the word “ _Ouija_ ” across the front.

“Alright, and this is the start of our own personal horror movie,” Sean says, chugging his drink until it’s nearly gone.

“Listen, Ethan said his house is haunted, and I had this from an old sketch I was gonna do but it never panned out,” Bob said as he walked back over to his spot on the couch, placing the box on the coffee table. I instinctively moved away from it.

“Ok, but what would the point be?” I ask, glancing from the box to him, then back at the box.

“The point would be I can prove to you that your house isn’t haunted,” Bob says, which almost makes me laugh.

“What about when it works?” Sean says, me instantly chiming in.

“Yeah, what about when it works?” I repeat, making Bob laugh.

“Well, first of all, it won’t work,” Bob says matter-of-factly, “Second of all, in the event that it does work-- which it won’t-- you can talk to whatever is here and get some peace of mind.” Some silence goes by before Bob adds, “But don’t worry it’s not gonna work. Because ghosts aren’t real.” This time, I can’t contain the short laugh that escapes me.

“Trust me, I wish that were true,” I mutter, staring at the box with an apprehensive look. With everything I just learned today about what’s out there, do I really want to mess with this? There really isn’t a point, I can just talk to Mark whenever I want. But maybe… maybe if I call out to Mark he’ll get the hint, and we can mess with Bob and Sean. The smallest smile spreads across my lips at the thought, and I look up at Bob.

“Yeah, ok, fuck it,” I say, making Bob grin.

“Definitely the aura you wanna have going in to play a Ouija board,” Sean says, making me laugh a bit.

“Alright, that’s the spirit,” Bob says.

“Ba Dum-Tsk,” Sean says, mimicking the movements of a drummer.

“Oh, hey, that was actually unintentional,” Bob says, which makes us chuckle. Bob eases the top of the box off. I stare down at the board with it’s bold letters and numbers, a drawing of a sun with a face on the top left corner, and a drawing of a moon with a face on the top right corner. Under the sun was the word “ _YES_ ” written in caps, and under the moon was the word “ _NO_ ”, also written in caps. In the middle of the board rested the planchette, which was the piece players put their fingertips on and let the spirit guide them to the answer.

As Bob went to reach for the planchette, however, we heard a loud crash come from the kitchen. All of our heads snapped to the entryway to the kitchen. From where we were sitting, we couldn’t see anything.

“Um, hey, Ethan,” Sean says, voice attempting to be calm but fear was clearly peaking through. “What the fuck was that?”

“Yeah, please tell me you got a cat or some shit,” Bob said, even him seeming to be rattled.

“I mean, I have an idea of what it is, but that answer won’t be good enough for Bob,” I say, standing up to go check it out.

“Are you crazy? Why are you going _toward_ it?” Sean says, voice high pitched and escalating in volume.

“Well, we have to figure out what it is somehow,” Bob justifies for me as I cross the threshold to the kitchen. I wasn’t that scared, because I was pretty sure it was Mark. I looked and saw a plate shattered on the floor behind the island. I looked on the counter to see the pen and notebook I keep in one of the drawers out and open. On the paper said the words “ _BEDROOM. NOW._ ” in all capital letters. I ignore the shattered plate for a moment, and step out of the kitchen. “Hang on, I gotta check my bedroom for something,” I say, the guys chorusing their own words of confusion behind me, but I ignore it as I duck down the hall and into my bedroom. “Mark?” I ask, closing the door behind me. I step further into the room, not seeing him. Then, I feel a tap on my shoulder, still making me jump with a small yelp and turn around. “Jesus-- do you have to do that every time?”

“Do _not_ touch that Ouija board,” he says, looking at me as serious and as sternly as I’ve ever seen him.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me? Ya know, we gotta come up with a better system for you getting my attention--” I say with a smirk, but he cuts me off.

“I’m serious, Ethan. Those things are no fuckin’ joke,” He says, and I can tell by the intense eye contact he means business, so I stop kidding around.

“Ok, ok, I just wanted to see if you would fuck around with them,” I said, holding my hands up in a small gesture of defense.

“Listen, I’ll prank your friends if you want, but not via Ouija board,” he says.

“Can I ask why not?”

“Those things are like beacons for anything good, bad, or neutral in the spirit world. More often than not, they only attract the bad, and if you’re _lucky_ , the neutral,” He explains, making the hairs on the back of my neck prick up.

“Bad as in, demons, bad?” I ask, and he nods.

“Even having it in your house is risky,” he says, making my face pucker. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t have attracted anything yet, but go tell him to put it back in his car. Hell, I’d tell him to throw it away.”

“He doesn’t believe in all of this stuff, I doubt he’ll throw it away,” I say. “But thanks for warning me.”

“I didn’t believe in it either, especially Ouija boards. Plus someone almost always fakes it,” He says with a small shake of his head. “But sometimes it doesn’t even matter if you actually make contact with anything, just messing around with it is enough.”

“Ok, thanks for telling me. They always made me uneasy, but I still just assumed they were mostly fake,” I said.

“That’s fair considering they literally sold them at Toys R Us before it closed down,” Mark said, and I chuckled.

“Alright, well I’m gonna go back out. Pretty sure you even scared Bob there for a second,” I said, smirking at him. He just chuckled back, and I headed into the living room, only to see Sean and Bob had already moved into the kitchen.

“So, are we gonna talk about this?” Sean asked, gesturing to the broken plate.

“Yeah, are you pranking us? What’s this?” Bob asked, holding up the notepad Mark had written in.

“How many times I gotta give you guys the same answer before you accept it?” I chuckle, getting a dust pan and the broom, sweeping up the mess.

“There’s no way your house is haunted, bro. Ghosts aren’t real,” Bob said with a disbelieving laugh.

“How do you explain what we just heard with our own ears dude!?” Sean stared at Bob with wide eyes. “Ethan was in the room with us!”

“I would like him to explain how he pulled it off!” Bob said, waving the notebook around. I dumped the broken plate in the trash.

“Do you want me to lie? I can lie to you if that’s what you want,” I say, raising my eyebrows at Bob.

“Why don’t you just tell me how you pulled off this marvelous prank, and why you’re talking to yourself through notepads, and we’ll call it a day?” Bob says in a casual tone, making me scoff.

“That’s not even my handwriting, man,” I say with a shake of my head, gesturing at the paper after leaning the broom against the wall.

“Prove it,” he says, grabbing the pen as well and shoving both items into my hands. I roll my eyes and place the notepad on the counter, scrawling in all capitals the same two words Mark wrote. I held it up for Bob and Sean to see.

“See, Bob!” Sean exclaims, gesturing at the paper. “They’re different!”

“Anyone can change their handwriting,” Bob says, making both Sean and I groan.

“Oh my god,” I breath a laugh, walking back into the living room and them following me out. “Anyway, can you put the Ouija board back in your car? I’ve got a feeling it’s not the best idea.”

“What, have a conflab with Mark?” Bob asks, sarcastically.

“Why do you even ask if you’re not gonna believe my answer?” I chuckle as Bob packs up the board.

“Oh my god, you’re not seriously trying to convince me that your ghost friend saw the Ouija board, didn’t like it, broke a plate to get your attention and called you to your bedroom, then told you it was a bad idea?” Bob rambles, a brief silence drawing between the three of us.

“Yes,” I say, simply after a moment. “That’s actually exactly what happened.” I couldn’t lie, I was getting a bit annoyed. Not a lot, but it was irritating that even though I was saying he didn’t have to believe me and we could drop it, he continued to accuse me of essentially lying.

“Ethan, ol’ pal, I’m worried for your sanity if you actually believe that,” Bob says, and I can tell a part of him is actually serious.

“I don’t know what to tell ya, Bob. I don’t have another explanation,” I say with a sigh, grabbing my drink and finishing it off, whereas Bob had barely touched his. “You heard the plate break yourself and I was sitting right next to you.”

“Bob, why would Ethan lie this much for a prank?” Sean said, and I shot him a thankful look. “What’s the point in not telling you by now?”

“Then my statement stands! If he’s not pranking us, I’m genuinely worried about him. Quarantine has been hard on everyone, I wouldn’t be judging…” For some reason though, Bob’s words do make me feel judged.

“Do you really think I’m going insane?” I question, not able to hide the tinge of hurt in my voice. Bob sighs, clearly not meaning to get me upset.

“Maybe not insane, but it can get boring and lonely if you don’t have a roommate right now--” Bob says, and I scoff.

“Oh. So you think I’m making it up for attention?” I accuse, my eyes narrowing at him.

“I didn’t say that--” Bob says, but I cut him off.

“But you implied it--” I say.

“I didn’t imply anything--” Bob says.

“Guys--” Sean tries to cut in, but we ignore him.

“Ok, then what exactly do you mean--” I tilt my head at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Guys--”

“I’m just worried about you, Ethan--”

“What a weird way of showing it, accusing me of either lying or being crazy--”

“Guys, seriously--”

“I’m trying to help--”

“Well you could start by _believing me_ \--”

“ _GUYS!_ ” Sean yells loudly, his voice echoing throughout the room.

“What!?” Bob and I both shout in annoyance, snapping our heads to Sean. That’s when I notice how scared Sean looks, staring at the entryway to the kitchen with wide eyes. He just points, barely able to move his shaking hand. We follow his gaze, and I see what’s got him so worried. I can barely see it from my angle, so Bob and I step more into view. I swallow, trying not to let myself get scared because there’s a good chance it was Mark’s doing-- but this feels much more sinister than any message he would try and convey.

All of my knives were out of the chopping block, and stuck firmly in one of the walls of my kitchen. I swallow a lump in my throat, not even Bob saying a word.

“Mark?” I choke out, clearing my throat when it chops. “Mark? You gotta tell me now if that was you, man.” I speak in as loud and clear of a voice as possible.

“H-how’d you… do that?” Bob asks, sounding softer and less sure of himself than I’ve ever heard him before. That alone was enough to send a chill through my body.

“I keep telling you, I _didn’_ t,” I say through gritted teeth, none of us taking our eyes off the knives in the wall. “Mark I’m not fucking around, if that was you say something!”

“Did you see it happen?” Bob asks, barely looking at Sean before his gaze returns back on the wall.

“No, I just looked to the side and they were like that. I didn’t even hear a thing,” Sean says with a shake of his head.

“How is that possible?” Bob asks, no one giving him an answer.

“Mark, since I know you don’t want them to see you, knock once if it was you who did that, knock twice if it wasn’t you,” I call out, and almost immediately there are two loud bangs on the wall to the right of Bob, making all of us jump. My blood runs cold. There aren’t any other once-alive spirits in this house anymore besides Mark, which leaves me to believe this entity is… the other kind we were talking about. “Mark, knock three times if we need to leave.” There’s a thick silence that falls over us, but only for a minute. Three knocks thunder one after the other, and that’s enough to have Sean and Bob scrambling for their things.

“Ethan, c’mon, get your shit!” Sean rushes, grabbing his coat and mask. Bob scoops up the board, making Sean exclaim, “You’re bringing that thing!?”

“We can burn it later I’m not making whatever the fuck is going on in this house worse!” Bob says, tucking the box under his arm and pulling out his keys. “Ethan, let’s go!”

“I’m not going,” I say firmly, making them whip around to look at me.

“WHAT?” They both yell at me, eyes wide.

“I’m not going, Mark is stuck here. I’m not leaving him stuck with… whatever this thing is,” I say with a shake of my head, biting down the fear that was threatening to make my knees collapse.

“Ethan, if what you said was true Mark’s already _dead_ , he’ll be fine!” Bob yells, Sean nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, now let’s _go_ ,” Sean turns for the door again, but my feet stay planted. All I could think about was Mark and I’s conversation earlier. The thought of Corruption happening to Mark… it makes me sick, physically sick. I wasn’t going to just leave him here and hope for the best. “ _Ethan_!” Sean practically screams.

“You don’t understand! I can’t go, I can’t leave him with this. I don’t have time to explain-- just go and get that fucking board out of here!” I yell, Bob and Sean looking at me for a moment. I suppose they realize there’s no changing my mind, because Bob just looked at me with an apologetic stare.

“If anything happens, you call me immediately. I’ll be here to help you, no matter how ridiculous it sounds to me,” He says, and I give him a small smile and a nod. With that, they leave, slamming the door behind them in a hurry. I hear the car start and quickly speed off, then I feel a hand on my shoulder spinning me around. I let out a yelp, thinking it’s something horrendous, but instead it’s Mark. And he looks rather frustrated.

“What are you _doing_?!” Mark raises his voice, grabbing me by both of my shoulders and staring me in my eyes. “Demons can _kill_ humans-- and a lot easier than something like me could!”

“I don’t care! I couldn’t leave you here to-- to--” I clench my jaw before spitting out the words. “Get torn apart!”

“Who cares about me?!” He yells back, making me shrink down. “You’re _alive_ and have people who care about you! People who need you alive!”

“So did you! But I’m sure they’re still capable of living even while missing you!” I yell back, him shaking his head in a fluster.

“No I _didn’t_! That’s why I _killed myself_!” He hisses, then his mouth drops open slightly, mine as well. I just stare back at him, a choked noise straining through my open mouth.

“Y-you what?” My voice is soft, and I feel my lip start to tremble, tears prickling at the back of my eyes. “You said you didn’t know how you died.” He sighs, dropping his head.

“We can’t talk about this out in the open, get some salt and a white candle if you have it. We’ll post up in your room,” He says, grabbing my wrist and tugging me to the kitchen. He peers through the entryway, pulling me all the way in when he decides the coast is clear. He lets go of my wrist and allows me to grab salt. I grab one of the long, slender white candle sticks on my counter for decoration, and a lighter. He grabs my wrist again, tugging me to the hallway and turning on the light before leading me into my room. He closes the door and takes the salt from my hands, making a line in front of the door before moving to my window and making another line on the sill. He moves in silence to the mirror in one of the corners of my room, doing the same as he runs the salt in a circle around it before throwing a blanket from my bed over it. He sighs, dropping down on my bed, then looks at me, watching him in my own silence. My mind was both swarming and excruciatingly empty after the words he had said to me, and I couldn’t process even a portion of it. “Light the candle and place it on the floor in front of the door, don’t disturb any of the salt lines.”

I do as he says, flicking the lighter and not moving until the flame catches the wick, then setting it just behind the salt line. I get on the bed next to him, both of us just sitting in silence. Finally, my shamefully small voice breaks it.

“Why’d you tell me you didn’t know how you died?” I ask, looking up at him, still feeling like I was on the verge of bursting into tears at any moment. He sighs once more.

“Because… I didn’t want to explain why I chose to stay here,” he says, making me shake my head softly.

“I don’t understand--”

“I thought it would scare you. I saw how scared you were the first time you saw me,” He says, looking down at his hands. I feel a pang of guilt run through me. I hadn’t meant to hurt him, but I can imagine that there’s no way that reaction wouldn’t hurt. “I figured if you knew, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Why do you care if I want anything to do with you? Can’t you stay on this land, regardless?” I ask, and he gives a quick, humorless laugh.

“I’m not Tied to this land, and even if I was, you could’ve figured out how to cleanse this house of me,” he says simply, but it’s still not making any sense to me.

“I still don’t understand, I’m sorry,” I say truthfully. He breathes another humorless laugh.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, I’m the one who lied. My last name isn’t Sanderson, by the way, it’s Fishbach. I lied so you wouldn’t find my death certificate,” He finally meets my eyes, and I feel all of his emotions flow through me like a current. All that pain, that sadness, everything that had been hidden from me before. It was right in front of my eyes, yet I still couldn’t see it. It’s like Mark chose to open his own flood gates, and pour it into me. “I didn’t know how I died when you moved in. The couple had just Passed, and I was trying to figure it out on my own-- jog my own memory. I was so lonely, I thought about calling out to a dark entity and causing my own Corruption,” I didn’t realize it at first, but at some point tears had spilled over my cheeks. Not a lot, and it didn’t even feel like I was crying. Only a few. He looks at me, a pained expression on his face when he sees them.

“I-I’m sorry,” I sniff, blinking and looking down. “I don’t know why I’m crying, this isn’t about me.” He just looks at me, taking his cold thumb and brushing away the slow falling tears, his touch feeling almost like ice on my skin, but I don’t shiver or back away. He pulls his thumb away and just looks at me for a moment before continuing.

“You had been living here for about a week, and I knew from day one that I was…” he looks down, almost embarrassed as he shakes his head. “Infatuated with you.” He looks back up to meet my eyes, and I feel heat rise to my damp cheeks. “You were so full of life, and had so much kindness to give out to people-- even to people who didn’t deserve even your glance in their direction.” His words make me smile a sad smile, and I couldn’t even place what was making me so sad about all of this. It was like every word he spoke made my heart soar, but also tug and tighten painfully in my chest. “But then, you had a really bad day. You were crying a lot, you couldn’t get out of bed. The things you were saying to yourself--” He’s looking at me like he’s about to cry too, and I feel the tears threatening to spill over again. “If I weren’t already dead, it would’ve killed me. It hurt so much to see you feel that way, to think those things about yourself. To want to _do_ those things to yourself--” This is when my head drops, my lip quivering, and a heavy sigh leaving my nose as I tried not to sob. I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my hoodie.

I was pretty sure I remembered the day he was talking about. There had been many more since then, but that was the first one in this house. The first time I really questioned if I should even be here at all.

“I wanted to help, to reach out, but I knew I would just end up scaring you more,” He said, placing his forefinger under my chin and pushing it up lightly before removing it. “And then you said something. These words that I’ll never forget for so many reasons, but also because it’s what triggered the memory of my death,” He took a breath and held my gaze as he repeated my own words back to me: “‘I’m just so tired of being alive.’” A quiet I sob escaped my mouth, my shoulders shaking and my head falling forward again. I didn’t feel like that as much anymore, but the days still came. The thoughts still swarmed. My light still faded. Sometimes it feels like I’ll never truly be rid of those thoughts; that they’ll always hide somewhere, deep down inside me, waiting for the strangest thing to fish hook them and pull them to the surface.

“So,” he says once I’ve calmed my crying into a quiet tremor, “I had this sort of flashback, and I watched myself on that night. I won’t go into details, but it wasn’t at this house. I went to the top of a hotel building. I waited until it was way past midnight, and tried to find the least busy area as possible. I didn’t want anyone to have to see it happen, someone finding my body would be horrific enough--” I let out another sob, this time letting my head fall onto his shoulder and my arms wrap around him, burying my face in his neck. He felt somehow cold and not at the same time, solid but nonexistent. The closest way I could describe it was like holding a cool breeze, but one that was condensed into a shape so it was solid enough to grasp.

“I’m so sorry, Mark,” I sobbed into his shoulder, my cries wracking my chest and causing it to shake. I felt arms wrap around me, pulling me closer. It was almost like he was feeling more and more like a living human as the embrace went on. “I-I’m-- s-so-- s-sorry--” I choked out between wails, unable to control myself now. I had only known him for a day, but anyone meeting an end like that… even as someone who’s considered it many times, it makes my heart ache deep in my chest.

“It’s okay,” he says in a calm voice, but I shake my head into his shoulder, pulling back and holding onto his forearms.

“It’s n-not okay! If only I had met you--” he chuckles, as I speak, “I could’ve helped you!” He keeps chuckling and looks down with a small shake of his head, also gripping my forearms. I look at him with furrowed brows, sniffling. “What?” I ask, honestly not seeing what was even slightly amusing in this situation

.

“You,” he says, looking up at me with a smile. I realize his own face is wet from tears, something I wasn’t sure was entirely possible, nor did I notice when it happened. “You didn’t even know me-- in fact, you’ve only known me for a matter of hours-- and you still cry over me. Cry over not being able to stop something you could have had no possible idea was going to happen.” I just blink up at him, not sure how to respond.

“How couldn’t I?” Is what I settle on. “Unless someone was some horrible, awful human being, I don’t think I could ever hear about someone being in such a dark place without it breaking my heart,” my voice cracks on my last words, making Mark give me a sad smile. “How could I not wish to go back and do everything I could to stop it?”

“Not everyone’s like that, Eth,” he says softly, the nickname soothing the dull ache in my heart just a bit. “That’s why I fell in love with you,” His words bring so much heat to my face I feel like I’ve turned into a forest fire, my mouth falling open. He drops his head with a sigh. “That's why I chose to stay. It had only been a week, and maybe I hadn’t already fallen in love then, but I knew I wanted to be there for you, in every way I could. I had to know I did everything I could to prevent you meeting an end that was anywhere similar to mine.” I couldn’t help it, tears were flowing hard again, and I pulled him back in for a tight hug, pressing my face into his chest and squeezing as tight as I could. In that moment, I had never wished for anything more than I had wished for him to be alive. The fact that nothing I could do would change that… It broke me.

I sobbed into his chest for what felt like an eternity, him petting my hair and rubbing my back as we held each other. I didn’t care how ridiculous the situation was, I was truly heartbroken, and all over someone I had never even really gotten a chance to know.

“You gave up,” my voice was strained and warbled from crying, some tears still managing to roll down my face as I pulled back just enough to look at him, “your only chance to be at peace… just for me?” My lip started to quiver again and more tears started to roll down my face just at the thought. God, I was a fucking mess. He sacrificed so much for me and all I can do is sit here and sob.

“No, Ethan,” He says, cupping my face with both of his hands and making me look him in the eyes. “There’s no telling what happens after Passing on. I knew that my peace would be with you. That’s why I was able to use you as my Tie to this plane.” I can’t help but search through his eyes, as if looking for an answer as to how I can reverse time, make the clock tick backwards. I’d do anything, _give_ anything, and I barely know him. Hell, in the corporeal sense, I don’t know him at all. What’s the protocol for mourning someone you didn’t meet until after their death? I suppose my silence makes him uneasy, however, as he drops his hands and looks away. “But if you’re weirded out, or scared, I can leave you alone. Once I get you through all this you’ll never hear from me again--”

“I don’t want that at all!” I all but yell at him, wincing when I realized how desperate I came off. I look down at my lap as I speak, only now realizing that I was practically in his own. “Please, don’t. I can’t even… put into words how heartbroken I am I didn’t get to know you when you were alive,” my voice breaks, but I swallow hard and force myself to get out my sentence, looking at him. “Please, let me get to know you--as much as I can-- now.” He smiles, brushing away the hair that had fallen just over my eyes. I smile back.

“I couldn’t ask for anything more,” He says in a low voice, a mixture of deep sadness and a spark of something much more invigorating brewing inside me.

“Ok,” I sigh, wiping my face once more as I lean back. “How do we solve this? That wasn’t you in the kitchen, so how do we banish it?”

“It’s not easy, but I think I have a plan,” he says, then bites his lip, looking apprehensive. “You might not like it, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im probably going to only have one or two more chapters of this fic! i realized i wanted to make it shorter when i started coming up with an idea for another one, and frankly this one doesn't need to be too long! if ur wondering about The Way We Move, don't worry, I can see at minimum another five chapters for that one, and probably closer to 10 (if not more.) also, if u have ever listened to brick + mortar let me know! i've literally never met someone else who has lmfao, but i've gotten some friends into them before. but anyway hope u enjoyed and thanks for reading!


	3. Lead Me Into the End of the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final chapter. Ethan and Mark must confront what was summoned into Ethan's home, or now both of them risk perishing a fate much worse than simply dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a reminder that i originally posted only the second half of chapter two, so if u read that and it seemed like it skipped ahead, the full version is up now! hopefully it didnt mess up the reading experience too much for u lol, and sorry abt that! anyway, enjoy the final chapter of this fic :D

“Okay, you couldn’t see the entity, but I could,” Mark explains, looking uneasy just at the conversation. “It’s not a negative spirit, it’s a full on demon. I don’t know how it got here so quickly just from the presence of a Ouija board, but honestly who knows how powerful demons are becoming with what’s going on.”

“How can you tell the difference between a demon and a negative spirit?” I ask, sitting cross legged next to him on the bed.

“Well, if they aren’t presenting in a human form… it’s pretty obvious,” Mark shudders, cringing slightly. “When it saw me, it definitely tried to scare me off by revealing it’s true form. Demons can’t Corrupt a soul while putting on a glamour, even if that glamour is only visible to other spirits.”

“How did you know it wasn’t just going to Corrupt you?” I ask.

“I didn’t,” he says simply.

“You should’ve gotten out of the situation, then!” I exclaim, balling my fists around the comforter.

“I wasn’t going to just leave you to figure it out on your own! Who knows what it could’ve done to you and your friends by the time you realized what was happening!” He raises his voice back, but calms down quickly. “We shouldn’t get into any heated confrontations. It will only feed off of the negative energy.”

“Ok, you’re right,” I sigh, forcing myself to calm down and releasing the fabric between my fingers.

“We need to learn its name. If we learn its name, banishing it should be the easy part,” he says, quietly now, but I just shake my head.

“Didn’t you say they guard that more than anything? How will we get it to reveal it to us,” I whisper, feeling like we probably have to keep our voices down so it doesn’t hear our plan. Is that even how this works? Can it hear us always? I’m not sure, but I feel like if it were dire that we communicate without speaking, Mark would’ve told me.

“I need to convince it that I want it to Corrupt me--” He says, but I cut him off.

“Absolutely not--” I raise my voice, but he shushes me. I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and chew on it.

“Let me explain,” he says in a hushed voice. “I’m going to go out there, tell it a tragic story about how I revealed my feelings to you, and you were repulsed by me. I’ll explain to it that you were my Tie, and that without you wanting me around, I have no reason to stay on this plane, but my option to Pass has already gone by. It will jump at the chance to Corrupt me, but it’s common for many spirits to want to know the name of the demon that Corrupts them. Self Corruption is taken pretty seriously, even by demons, although they never show remorse or hesitance for it. As well, only a living being can use a demon’s name to banish or control it, so it won’t be risking anything by telling me it’s name. That’s when you jump out, and banish it.”

“I don’t like this plan at all, Mark,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to banish anything.”

“It’s not that hard, you just need a lot of emotion behind it. You’ve already shown that you care a lot both for living souls and dead ones, I’m sure when the time comes down to it, you’ll muster enough strength to pull it off,” He says back softly. “You don’t need to say specific phrases, but I’ll give you some ones to stick to. Wherever I say ‘X’, just say it’s name; ‘I banish thee, demon X, to leave my soul and home. I command thee, X, to listen to my will, for I know thy name.’” I don’t say anything, and he must see my nerves rising, because he takes his hand and encapsulates mine with it, catching my gaze and holding it. “Hey, you can do this,” His voice was soft, and it soothed my brain just a bit, a small smile tugging on my lips as I looked at those warm eyes. I don’t know how a spirit manages to look so alive behind the eyes, but every once in a while it makes it hard to remember he’s not alive.

“Do I have to speak like I’m in a Shakespeare play?” I ask after a moment, raising my eyebrows. He chuckles, still trying to remain quiet as he releases my hand. I ignore the tugging urge to pick it up again.

“No, these were just written from an old religious person and have stuck around,” he whispers. “Like I said, you can say anything as long as you’re telling it to leave. It’s how you say it and what your intent is when saying it.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, wanting to be as clear on this as possible. Mark’s existence was on the line, which was enough to make me sick to my stomach at this whole plan. But I’m not sure if we had another choice.

“When you say the words, really _picture_ them working-- kind of like manifestation-- the more you believe it, the more successful it will be,” he says, which instantly makes my mouth dry up. If this all came down to believing in myself, I’m not sure it would pan out. “Couple that with strong emotion, and really _wanting_ it to listen, and it should work.”

“What if it doesn’t?” I ask, my voice small, because I was sure I already knew the answer. He doesn’t say anything for a second.

“Then I want you to know I don’t blame you, and to never blame yourself,” he says, and it feels like I’ve just been kicked in the gut, all the air being knocked out of me.

“I don’t want you doing this,” I say sternly, still keeping my voice low.

“Ethan, we don’t have a choice,” he argues.

“Of course we do! We always have a choice,” I hiss, my whispering going as loud as it can without being too overt. “I can be the bait.”

“It doesn’t make enough sense for you to-- it would know something’s up immediately,” he says, making me huff. “Plus, it would never tell you it’s name.” I press my lips into a line, just looking at him. I wanted there so desperately to be another option, but I couldn’t think of one. Deep down, I knew this was the only way. I sigh, dropping my gaze with a small shake of my head.

“Fine,” I say. “But if it’s starts going wrong you get the fuck out of there and you follow me wherever I go.”

“Deal,” he whispers back, holding out his hand. I shake it, before grabbing him and pulling him into another long, tight embrace. He hugs me back, and I swear there’s no way he isn’t actually here. “Ok, you have to sound like you’re yelling at me. Like you want me gone.”

“This won’t accidentally… get rid of you, will it?” I ask.

“Not if you don’t mean it,” Mark chuckles quietly.

“Ok, here it goes then… Don’t take any of this as serious, I don’t mean it at all,” I say with a sigh before mustering my voice into a yell. “I barely fucking know you, dude! It’s weird enough I have to deal with all this ghost shit, and now you’re saying you’re in _love_ with me?”

“Ethan-- please, I’m sorry--” Mark yells back, neither of our faces reading anger or sadness.

“No! I don’t give a fuck! This shit is too weird!” I yell back, angling my head towards the doorway. “I don’t want anything to do with you!” I reach out and put a hand on his arm, just to assure him I don’t mean it, but he gives a wave of his hand and a small smile. Then, he puts on a somber face and passes behind me. By the time I turn to the closed door, he’s already out of the room. I move to the door and press my ear up to it, listening intently. I hear Mark calling out into the hall.

“Hey, demon!” He yells. “Show yourself!” There was silence for a moment, but then I hear someone speak in a voice that doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard before.

“Still protecting your human friend?” I hear a raspy, deep voice say. The sound sends a violent chill through my whole body, forcing me away from the door for a moment, but I quickly return.

“He doesn’t want me anymore,” I hear Mark say, voice clear and strong. I’m impressed at his ability to stay calm in the face of whatever could possibly sound like that.

“How pitiful, I would’ve loved to torture you two together,” I hear the voice say, amusement dripping in it’s voice as it makes a sound close to a chuckle. “But I wonder if you would have secretly enjoyed that? Such a pretty face, twisted and contorted in pain.”

“I’m here to make an offer,” Mark says, ignoring the demon’s words.

“Oh? Do I get to keep him as a plaything for myself in return for your safety?” The voice says, making my stomach turn.

“The opposite, actually. He is my Tie to this world,” Mark explains. The demon ‘tuts’ at him.

“How tragic,” it purrs. “Your Tie wants nothing to do with you, and now you come to me begging for Corruption?”

“Exactly,” Mark says.

“I do love to watch someone beg,” the demon chuckles again. “I would much prefer that human on his knees, crying and pleading up at me… but I suppose you could be just as fun.”

“If you do this, you must make a deal not to hurt Ethan,” Mark says.

“Hmm… and what’s stopping me from just Corrupting you now and killing him after?” The demon says, and my stomach drops. I think about bursting out of the room, but I stop myself when Mark speaks.

“I’ll be your personal tool. I’ll do your bidding, any of it, after my Corruption,” Mark says, voice deep and booming. There’s a silence as I assume the creature thinks this over.

“Ok, I’m pleased with this,” the voice growls.

“I ask for only one more thing,” Mark says, and the demon makes a noise resembling a groan. If I weren’t so on edge, I would find it a bit funny how human like this demon was.

“You’ve already asked for so much, and I’m not a giver,” the demon’s voice lowers into that of a sultry one, moving from where it was in the hallway, seemingly closer to where Mark’s voice was. “Unless you want me to be.” I make a disgusted face from behind the door.

“I just want to know the name of that which Corrupts me, the name of who I am about to serve,” Mark says, this whole time sounding nothing like himself. The demon all but cackles.

“Do you peg me as a fool, spirit?” The demon hisses. “You aren’t dealing with some runt-level demon. I’m the controller of lust and all desires.”

“Y-you’re one of the--” Mark sounds worried for the first time throughout this, and fear shoots through me like a lightning bolt.

“Seven Princes of Hell? Precisely,” the demon says with a sickening amount of amusement flooding its voice.

“Why have you come here in the first place? All from the presence of a Ouija board?” Mark asks.

“That pathetic human invention isn’t what brought me here,” the demon spits. “It was your own lust and want for that mortal. I haven’t felt an energy so strong in decades, perhaps even centuries.”

“I don’t understand--” Mark says, the demon cutting in.

“Not only are you so _pitifully_ in love with that human, no, you’re shamefully spurred on by his mere presence,” Mark is silent after the demon’s words, which makes the demon chuckle. “Yes, I’ve heard your desires, spirit. The things you want to do to that mortal-- who barely even knows you! At least that’s what it seems like from his own budding feeling.” This makes the demon break into a full on laugh, meanwhile my face has broken into a full on blush. God, what bad timing, getting embarrassed from what a demon says.

“Does it matter? He won’t have me,” Mark defends, but doesn’t deny, which causes excitement to stir in my stomach.

“Hmm, are you sure you want to lie to a being like me, spirit?” The demon asks, and my stomach sinks.

“You don’t--” Mark is cut off and I hear a loud ‘ _slam_ ’ against the wall of the door I’m leaning against, making me jump.

“Love, whether formed from romance or not, is something I can sense. I can feel it in the air. I’m not sure if that human’s love for you stems from lust or not-- I can’t tell yet-- but it’s coating the air in this structure like a sickening smog,” The demon was hissing and spitting his words, clearly angry now. I expect to hear Mark respond, but instead I hear a sort of choking noise, making my blood run cold. “If it weren’t so damn _pure_ , I’d be relishing in it. But it’s vile how much he cares for you, how long has he known you? A few days? Not even? It makes me sick.” I wait for Mark’s response, but I get none, my stomach dropping further and further out of my body with each second that ticks by, the struggling noises continuing. “So now, I’m going to Corrupt your soul, and _kill_ that human before Corrupting his soul, too. Don’t worry, maybe you two can serve me together. The thought of that is rather… arousing, isn’t it?” I’ve had enough, I rip the door open and rush out into the hall.

“Let go of him!” I yell, but I can’t hide the look of fear that consumes my whole body when I lay eyes on the scene. A pitch black figure, so tall it must hunch over in my hallway, with large, tattered wings is gripping Mark by the throat and pressing him into the wall. It’s hands are massive, and end in long, jagged, talon-like fingers. It doesn’t look like it’s made out of any sort of skin, rather pure black electricity. I can feel the… evilness, hitting me like a wall just from stepping over the salt line. Then, it’s horned head snaps to me, and I feel as if my own soul has left my body as I stare into its three, glowing red eyes. I try and swallow the lump in my throat, but my knees begin to buckle and my legs begin to shake. I feel like I could pass out. It smiles at me, somehow revealing a darker shade of black behind it’s maw that I didn’t even know could exist. It hurt my head to even look at. It drops Mark onto the floor, turning to face me with it’s full body, which was slender and angular. I close my mouth, which had fallen open, and narrow my eyes, standing my ground. This elicits a bone chilling laugh from the creature.

“Well, I will say, this is the bravest I’ve ever seen a living mortal look in my presence,” he coos. “No wonder you care so fondly about him, spirit.” With his words I look at Mark, who is on his hands and knees, rubbing at his throat. He doesn’t need to breathe, so I can only assume the demon was torturing his soul. “Ah, and he also cares about you. Pity. Well, not for me. But for you two, it is a shame, isn’t it? To think, if your own lusts hadn’t been so loud, you could’ve gone on living in harmony,” It takes a step toward me, but I don’t move. This gains me a scoff from the demon. It closes the gap between us in an instant, quicker than a blink of an eye. It’s gripping me by my chin, it’s fingers like lines of fire in my flesh, and I feel my feet lift off the ground. I let out a cry of pain, my eyes squeezing shut.

“Unfortunately for you--” I hear Mark speak, making my eyes snap open. I look behind the demon to see Mark back on his feet, a deadly look in his eye. “You’ve already made a mistake.” The demon drops me, and I gasp for air, even though it hadn’t been choking me. It turns to look at Mark.

“And what is that?” It asks, not threatened.

“Any spirit that’s lasted past the grace period knows the Seven Princes of hell,” Mark says. The demon scoffs.

“So? Are you a fan?” The demon chuckles, lowering its head to stare more pointedly at Mark. Mark smirks-- _actually smirks_ \-- in the demon’s face.

“No, but that means I know your name, Asmodeus,” Mark says, and my eyes widen. The demon straightens, but I’m already speaking.

“Asmodeus!” I yell, and I can physically see whatever the demon is made up of being affected, if only a little. It was almost like it was glitching around the edges, the black void wavering and flickering just slightly. “I banish thee, demon Asmodeus, to leave my soul and home. I command thee, Asmodeus, to listen to my will, for I know thy name!” I shout, the entity shifting slightly at every mention of it’s name. But it does nothing else. My face falls slightly as it turns to face me again.

“You think you can just recite some dead fool’s words at me, and I’ll be gone just like that?” Its voice was offended and angry. “Then I might as well make you watch as I TEAR YOUR BOYFRIEND’S SOUL TO SHREDS!” Asmodeus’ words turn into a roar so loud it hurts my ears. It turns and grabs Mark by the chest, sinking it’s pointed fingers into him. It sinks its other hand into Mark’s back, and I watch as it begins to literally pull him apart.

“NO!” I squeeze my eyes shut and let out the loudest, most ear-piercing scream in my entire life. When I open my eyes I see-- to my extreme surprise-- that Asmodeus has been knocked back, dropping Mark to the ground. The demon looks at me, and even with nearly no facial features, I can tell it’s perplexed, as am I. But I roll with it, sinking into my stance and locking eyes with the creature. “ASMODEUS!” I force my voice out as much as I can, all the muscles in my body clenching as I yell. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!” I see it’s body start to glitch and contort. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” It glitches out of existence for just a moment, before appearing further down the hall. “AND GET THE _FUCK_ OUT OF MY HOUSE!” I scream the last sentence as loud as I can, willing it to just _disappear_.

It’s whole body begins to rumble and vibrate, the dark swirling mass its made of glitching and ripping and stretching. A horrible screech erupts from his maw, a wind picking up in my house as if there were a tornado, sending couch pillows and papers swirling and flying around the room. All of the lights in my house were flickering on and off as if they were about to burst.

And then, just like that, it disappeared into itself. The horrible sound it had made was gone. The wind stopped abruptly. The lights flickered on, and stayed on. We were left in silence.

I instantly ran to Mark, dropping to my knees beside him. He didn’t look good. If he were alive, he would look like someone on their deathbed.

“Mark!” I picked up his upper body and rested it on my legs, brushing the hair out of his sullen face so I could examine him. His eyes were squeezed shut in pain, his face contorted in a wince as he grabbed at his chest. “Mark, can you talk?”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “Just hurts.” I stared over his form, hands shaky and tears welling in my eyes. _I can’t fucking lose him. I already couldn’t save him once._

“Mark, w-what do I do?” I ask, stuttering and voice trembling, my eyes scanning him frantically. I felt so useless. “Please, you have to tell me how to help you,” tears were spilling over my cheeks and I felt my composure slipping.

“You’ve already done so much for me, Eth,” he croaks, opening his eyes and letting them settle on my face, a small, weak smile on his lips. “More than you’ll ever know.” A sob escapes my mouth, shaking my shoulders as I grip onto his arms. He didn’t feel as solid as he had before, which shot fear into the pit of my stomach, forcing another sob out of me.

“You’re not leaving me,” I choke, throwing my body into his and holding him to me as tight as I can without hurting him. It feels like he might fall straight through my fingers. I let my tears transfer from my cheeks to his chest, not sure what else I can do. “I won’t let you go,” I can only manage to whisper. I pull back to look at his face, that pained smile still in place. I feel the weight from him lifting, and the fear consumes me. I imagine I looked exactly like a deer caught in headlights.

Before I can think about it, I cup his face in my hands and press my lips to his, squeezing my eyes shut as I drink up as much of him as I can. A noise of surprise emits from him, but soon his lips move back, weakly. I do most of the work, not wanting to let go for fear that if I do he’ll fade away right in front of my eyes.

_You’re not leaving me._

The words echo in my head as I feel the excitement from his lips on mine course through me. I imagine it flowing through my body and back into him, wrapping around him and surging through him like ribbons of golden light. I can’t be sure if I’m imagining it, but I swear I feel his form solidifying under my hands. Feel his weight return to my lap. Feel his lips pressing harder into mine.

Then, he’s pushing me up with his body, his lips still connected to mine as he sits up, and I feel a rush of pure joy coursing through my body. His hands reach up to cup my face as well, before brushing to the back of my head and tangling in my hair. His lips move against mine, me no longer doing most of the work, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy in my life.

Finally, I have to pull away, gasping from the lack of air. He isn’t out of breath, obviously, but he’s staring at me with shock in his eyes, his mouth hung open. I can’t do anything but pant as I stare into his eyes. Then, when it really hits me that he’s _still here_ , I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. I cry just from feeling his solid form against me, the weight of what could be another living human pressing against my chest as he wraps his own arms around me.

“It’s okay,” he coos in a soft voice as his hand pets the hair on my head. “You did it, Eth. You saved me.”

/ 

“Ethan! Hurry up with the game!” Bob calls from the living room.

“Give me a second!” I call back from where my head is buried in the guest bedroom closet, searching through a massive box of board games. “Where is it?” I mutter to myself, before finally spotting it. “Aha! Found it!” I exclaim triumphantly, standing up with the Monopoly box in my hands. I run out of the guest room and rejoin Bob, Wade, and Sean in the living room.

“Jeez, took you long enough,” Sean says, but there was no coldness to his tone.

“Yeah, did you find Narnia?” Bob teases, making me roll my eyes, a smile on my face. I take my seat on the couch, placing the game on the coffee table and unboxing it.

“Sounds like some of us need a lesson in patience,” I say, laying out the board. “You don’t hear Wade complaining.”

“And what a rarity that is,” Bob says, making Wade look at him in mock offense.

“Hey! I don’t complain that much,” Wade defends, making Sean and Bob scoff. “Whatever! I’m getting another drink,” Wade chuckles, getting up from his seat in an armchair.

“Oo, grab me another, too!” Sean calls, but Wade just flips him off with a goofy face as he walks backward, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Hey, where’s--” My question is cut short by a scream from Wade, making our attention snap to the entryway.

“It stopped being funny the fifth time you did it-- _tonight_

_“I dunno, man, it keeps getting funnier and funnier for me,” Mark says in a sigh once he finally gets a hold of himself, taking a seat next to me on the couch, a grin still on his face. Bob, Sean and I all join him in laughter at the sight of Wade’s wet clothes._

__

“You made me spill the beer all over myself!” Wade says, grabbing a towel that was discarded onto the floor, from when Mark scared him the _first_ time. However, the fallout from this one was much worse, and not just a small water stain on the front of his shirt.

__

“Hey, it’s your fault for still being surprised every time he materializes next to you,” Bob says, choosing his Monopoly player (the car.)

__

“You don’t get to talk! He doesn’t ever do it to you!” Wade says, making us all laugh.

__

“Yeah, because Bob and Sean don’t get scared anymore,” Mark chuckles.

__

“It’s okay, Wade, he does it to me all the time,” I say with a smile, grabbing the little metal thimble and beginning to deal money.

__

“Honestly, I don’t know how you haven’t had a heart attack living with him,” Wade says, and I shrug.

__

“It’s come close a few times, but you get used to it,” I say honestly.

__

“Hear that, Wade? Ethan just called you a coward,” Sean teases, taking a sip of his drink.

__

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Wade says, his voice high pitched, indicating that it wasn’t fine. “I’ll get our Mostly Ghostly friend back one of these days.”

__

“Uh-huh, sure ya will, bud,” Mark says, an amused smirk on his face as he takes the small metal cat into his hand. He holds it up to Wade. “Hey, look Wade, it’s you.”

__

“Ohhhh, got ‘em!” Bob says, organizing the money I gave him. I can’t help but smile as I look at Mark, getting just a bit lost in the scene in front of me. He was laughing back and forth with the rest of the guys, bantering and teasing each other as we started the game. I was worried the guys wouldn’t get used to this, that it would be too weird, or that Mark wouldn’t want to show himself to my friends. Or that he wouldn’t be able to hold a physical form. After the incident with Asmodeus, Mark was definitely weaker for a while, but that was a solid four months ago. I’m not sure if he’ll be this strong when the energy surge ends with the pandemic, but whenever he’s around me, it’s hard to remember at all that he’s not alive. And, even if things change, I know he’ll always be around. And I’ll always _want_ him around. As weird as our situation is, our relationship has turned into something a bit more than just a friendship, and I hope that it at least stays like this, if not progresses. I don’t even know what that entails between a spirit and a living human, but whatever the hardship, I’m willing to figure it out for him. _With_ him.

__

I couldn’t be there for him when he chose to end things, but I was sure as hell going to be there for him now. I just hope he’ll still want me around when I’m old and losing my mind, but he’s still young and attractive. Even if he doesn’t, I won’t regret a moment of this. A moment of him laughing. A moment of him staring at me with all that emotion swimming behind his eyes. A moment of him kissing me, and every time it still blowing my mind for a million reasons. We don’t know how he recovered from that attack, not exactly, but like with everything else, we chalked it up to strong enough will and emotions feeding into him. Asmodeus didn’t complete the Corruption process, after all, but who’s to say what would have happened if it had Mark in its grasp for just a few more seconds. I don’t let myself think about that. I don’t think Mark does either. And there’s no reason to. Because we’re both here now, and I’m never letting anything happen to him again.

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“Eth?” Mark’s voice makes me blink, snapping back to the moment. Everyone’s looking at me with raised eyebrows, Mark especially, since I was just staring at his face.

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“It’s been your turn for, like, two minutes,” Bob chuckles, and my face heats. I look at the board with a shake of my head, scooping the die into my hand.

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“Sorry,” I say with an embarrassed smile, rolling the die. “Slipped out of reality for a sec there.” Mark speaks next, gaining chuckles from the group and a soft smile from me.

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“I know the feeling.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic was definitely a short one! i could've dragged it out, but honestly, i feel like it fits better as a short and simple one. if u consider demons and relationships between ghosts and humans simple, that is. the truth is, i kind of wanted to use this fic as an exercise for writing them in a more serious, horror setting (in comparison to the theme of The Way We Move, which, again, will continue for awhile so no worries there.) i hope u enjoyed reading & thank u for all the kind words & support (and if u saw me post the mess up of chapter 2 before i sorted it, thanks for tolerating that lmfao)


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